


Believe you can shine when you're silver and I promise you gold

by mofumanju



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Tomoya is always on the verge of having a mental breakdown, Wataru being Wataru, phantom thief!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mofumanju/pseuds/mofumanju
Summary: He really wants to shine. For once, just for once, he wants to take the stage, he wants to be the one that steals people’s breath, the one who catches proud glances, and happy smiles. He wants to believe the Phantom Thief’s words, for once - he doesn’t really care if he’s his archenemy, at the moment, he doesn’t care if the aim of his life is to catch that man, and make the world see that he can do great things as well.He wants to believe him. In which Tomoya is a detective, and Wataru has only a mission in his life.Which is not making Tomoya die of heart attack, apparently.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shichan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shichan/gifts), [mellyface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyface/gifts), [watatomo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/watatomo/gifts).



> Oh my effing God.  
> I've spent two weeks writing this thing day and night, and now that it's finished I feel empty as a bowl of ice cream without any ice cream in it, sob sob. And hands down, I was a lowkey WataTomo shipper until 20 days ago.  
> What happened. What. Happened.  
> I've tried to correct any mistake but still keep in mind that A) English is not my first language and B) I've never written something so long in ages - and it's my first time with English so double wow, do I get something for this? At least a kiss? Give me a kiss and make me happy. (灬º 艸º灬) This fic should have been 20k words long but Wataru kept doing as he liked so I wrote a bit more than expected. I really hope you'll like it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> Also, thanks to anybody on twitter who had to bear with my spam about this thing, I started to be a bit too excited when I realised that it was going to be a monster - at least for my standards LOL. Special kisses to you all ♥(｡・//ε//・｡)  
> Before I leave you I just want to dedicate this to the WataTomo squad on twitter, especially to Shicchi, who got the message that make it all start ( _what if Tomoya was a detective and worried about Wataru's collection of mask being stolen by the Phantom Thief, lol cute_ ), to Melly (MELLLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY (*꒦ິ⌓꒦ີ)!!!) and Shiro (who's a uber cute patootie and deserves love. ww)  
> And now, ENJOY www rants @mofumanju on twitter; kudos and comments appreciated but not required, I really just hope you'll have a good time. ♥

He runs, climbing the stairs as if he was running for his life. He can feel it flowing through his veins, the thrill of excitement, the anticipation, his brain screaming _you can do it, this time_.

He really wants to shine. For once, just for once, he wants to take the stage, he wants to be the one that steals people’s breath, the one who catches proud glances, and happy smiles. He wants to believe the Phantom Thief’s words, for once - he doesn’t really care if he’s his archenemy, at the moment, he doesn’t care if the aim of his life is to catch that man, and make the world see that he can do great things as well. 

He wants to believe him. 

But willpower is not enough to win against him, to win against a fate that seems to make fun of him each time he is almost there, each time his fingers brush that black cape and for a moment, just for a moment, he feels this story coming to an end, and victory laying on his head as a shiny, gold crown.

“See you next time, Little Rabbit.” 

The thief’s eyes smile, bright like amethyst - Tomoya never sees mockery in them, just a glint of happiness that he can’t explain. Is he having fun, playing cat and mouse? Sometimes, it just feels like he wants to be caught. 

He wonders if that day will ever come.

 

“Tomoya-kun, good morning!”

He has just left his flat and taken the first steps down the stairs, when the high-pitched voice belonging to his neighbour fills the stairwell. His ears burns, red with embarrassment - how many times must he tell him to stop yelling like that at eight in the morning? He turns and faces him, mentally repeating _be collected, be collected, be kind, he has just greeted you_.

“Good morning, Hibiki-san.”

Tomoya has always wondered how a person can smile that bright so early in the morning. The only thing he can think about at the moment is the bed he had to abandon less than a hour ago, but the man bringing to the door seems so refreshing that Tomoya sometimes doubts he is really human. He tries to answer the greeting, but he feels so tired that even raising his lips is a task way too strenuous at the moment. 

“Off to work?”

“Yeah,” and his shoulders drop, at the thought of what is waiting him once he gets to the office.  
He’s not sure he wants to go. 

Maybe he should call in sick. 

“You look tired.”

“I am,” and he doesn’t say anything more, because Wataru’s concern is sincere, and for once he doesn’t want to throw a tantrum at him just because he’s feeling nervous. Lack of sleep does the worst things on him. 

“... why don’t you stop for a tea, after your shift? Tea solves anything, or so they say. A friend of mine always says that my tea is the best in the yard, and you should trust him, because he’s a tea addicted.”

“Addiction is never good,” he answers, a heavy sigh escaping his mouth, “but I’ll take your invite into consideration. Now, if you want to excuse me, I’m already late.”

“Of course, of course, I’m sorry I stole your time. Have a nice day, Tomoya-kun.”

Tomoya bends a bit, before he rushes down the rest of the stairs and leaves the building. He takes a few steps, before he stops and turns around just to see his neighbour waving at him from the balcony. 

Sometimes he wonders why Wataru Hibiki seems so interested on his person. Why should someone like him, so odd, so extravagant, be so fond of a plain, ordinary man like him? He was the first to welcome him when he moved into that building a few years ago, and never got bored of him. 

He wishes it could be the same for him. To be honest, Wataru is way too exuberant, often on the edge of being a pain in the ass. It’s okay, most of times Tomoya can endure it, but there are days in which he really tries his best not to yell at him to stop being such an hassle. He’s sure it would break his heart, though. 

Well, he has not time to worry about that, now. He waves back, a crooked smile on his face, before he turns his back towards his house and walks down the street.

The day just started and he already feels tired.

 

“Report. On my desk. In a hour. And bring coffee, my head is hurting already too much, newbie.”

It doesn’t matter if he’s been working at this bureau for two years, now, detective Kunugi seems stuck in the past, like he really doesn’t want to acknowledge that Tomoya isn’t a newbie anymore. Or maybe that’s just a way to mock him, he doesn’t really know. Anyway, the clock is striking nine o’clock, and he has a job demanding to be done, so the only thing he can do is sitting at his desk and starting to move his fingers over his laptop’s keyboard. 

Report. Ugh. He hates to write reports, especially when he must talk about his failure in catching that damned thief for the umpteenth time. And, considering how he’s running after him for a year now, Tomoya is well damned _tired_.

He wishes he could forget how it started, and gain back his mental health. November was dying, the air cold and his head filled with the longing desire of a break. He had just entered the building of the agency and opened his locker when he found a letter - _the_ letter: a white envelope enhanced with blue roses on its corners, and his name elegantly written in the middle. 

_For my beloved Mashiro Tomoya_.

His first reaction, at the time, was to blush pretty hard - his face turned red so fast that Mitsuru, one of his colleagues, was afraid he was going to pass out at any moment. But it was silly on his part to think that it was some kind of a love letter - after all, only his family knew where he was working, and he didn’t think there were any female co-workers who could have possibly been interested in him. However, when he opened that letter he received quite a shock.

Well ok, he really _wasn’t expecting_ a love letter, he knew that couldn’t be the case. The problem is that he didn’t expect something like that, too, because well, you don’t wake up every day knowing that some random criminal would write you a letter literally asking to be caught.

By you.

And just by you.

He was quite surprised, to be honest. And he doesn’t know if he can really describe that feeling that invaded his body like happiness, but he felt somehow special.

Chosen. 

It’s been over a year now, and still Tomoya hasn’t grasped why the Phantom Thief - so that man calls himself - has got an interest on him. At first he thought it was just a prank, his colleagues mocking him because he doesn’t stand out, because nobody really notices his presence, nor acknowledges his work. But then he met him, he really did, and although he still doesn’t understand why, somehow Tomoya feels like he should thank him - even if he doesn’t really like him and his way to do things. 

Well, he’s a thief after all.

But he’s a thief that will bring him to shine, at last. 

He turns on his laptop with a soft sigh, Mitsuru on the other side of the room coming with coffee and a smile too bright to be bearable. Tomoya looks at him approaching and wonders if he will be able to be so vivacious in the morning as well, once in his life. 

Maybe he should start to drink three coffees in the morning as Tenma does. 

“Good morning, Tomo-chan! Coffee, coffee!” he says, cheerful, bright like the sun hiding somewhere behind dark clouds outside the office. Tomoya smiles, or at least he tried to. He’s already too tired. 

“Good morning, Mitsuru,” he answers, reaching for his coffee, bitter as his soul. He gulps it down, feeling hotness spreading on his chest in an instant. He needed it. “Thank you.”

“Nevermind. How are you feeling-”

“Wasted,” and his answer is too immediate, the umpteenth failure weightening on his words. He lies down on his desk, letting his lungs empty out. He stares at the wall, hoping to find an answer to all his questions, wondering why he is still there if he won’t achieve anything. “I really thought I was going to catch him this time, but… he’s just like dust. Like sand, always slipping through my fingers. I’ll never catch him, Mitsuru.”

“You will!” Mitsuru slams his hand on his desk, attracting the attention of the whole office for the record time of five seconds. Then, anyone gets back to work, leaving Tomoya with some sort of second hand embarrassment he won’t get rid off soon. “You will, Tomo-chan, you must not lose hope! He wants you, you know? He wants to be caught by you!”

“What if he’s just playing around.”

“Of course he’s playing around,” and _how in the world should that make him feel better_ , “but it doesn’t mean he won’t give you the chance to get him. I think he likes you, you know?”

“Like.”

“Like. Yes. Like a lot!”

“I’m not of the same idea, but thanks for trying to cheer me up, Mitsuru.”

He sighs again, raising his glare towards Mitsuru and pouting a bit, coffee running through his veins and feeding his nerves. He should have learnt his lesson by now, and still he forgets that he should not drink coffee after spending a night chasing the Phantom Thief. 

It makes him nervous - well, more nervous that he already is on a daily basis anyway. 

“Just think about it, why should he want you to be the one to catch him?”

“Because he’s bored, probably? I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it. Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got a report to write, and you stole me already ten minutes.”

Mitsuru laughs, scratching the back of his head and taking a step behind. “Right, right. You’re right. Don’t give up, Tomo-chan!”

And he nods, waving his hands as the other distances himself from his desk. He loses himself a bit, looking at the empty space before him, and then, eyes on the screen again, he starts to write a new chapter of that stupid story about how he couldn’t protect himself from the teasing of such a mischievous man.

 

He’s doing it. He can’t still believe himself, but he’s doing it. His finger lingers for a while over Wataru’s name on the intercom, because he’s not sure he will be able to bear his neighbour’s company.

But he’s doing it. No steps back. 

He pushes his digit on the button before his nose, holding his breath for a moment and wondering if it’s the right thing to do. It’s not like he doesn’t like Wataru - they have known for two whole years now, and that man he’s so chatty and friendly that anyone in the building has got to like him at least a bit. Tomoya is no exception. Though, and he still hasn’t figured out why, he always feels a bit uncomfortable around him - well, _a bit_ is an euphemism.

“Tomoya-kun,” the voice of Wataru comes out of the intercom, cheerful. “Come, come.”

And the door opens with a mechanic sound, and Tomoya wonders again if he shouldn’t lead home and confine himself to bed instead of spending some time at his neighbour’s house.

The damage is already done.

He steps inside, Wataru on the door waving at him. His expression changes, though, when their eyes meet.

“You look tired, Tomoya-kun.”

“Because I am,” and he would like to sound less harsh, but how can he, when he has eight hours of real hell on the back of his shoulders? Wataru doesn’t seems to be affected by the tone of his voice: he just steps aside and makes him enter his apartment. 

It is unexpectedly neat, just a few sheets of paper are laying on the sideboard on the threshold - a script, maybe? Wataru is an actor, after all.

Sometimes Tomoya wonders if he is not playing a part in the huge stage that’s his life. He guesses he’ll never know. 

“Were you practicing?” Tomoya asks, and he suddenly feels a bit like an intruder, in that house: everything around him is peculiar, shiny - he reminds him of that bunch of pictures Mitsuru once showed him, of Venice and its wonderful Carnival. Wataru would fit that kind of environment so well. 

“Aaah, yes. I was just taking a break before rehearsal, it will be a long night! Just take a sit, I’m fetching the tea.”

And he obeys, guided by Wataru into the dining room before he disappears behind the kitchen’s door. The air is filled with the nice aroma of matcha tea, mixed with the delicate scent of roses and white lilies. He relaxes against the chair, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing deep. 

It’s okay, to be there. It’s okay if he spends a bit of time in Wataru’s company. 

The tinkling of the tea cups calls him back to reality, Wataru suddenly so near that Tomoya can breathe is scent - does everything smell nice in that house?

Oh, God. He didn’t really thought that. He _didn’t_.

“You’re so stiff, Tomoya-kun. What happened?” he asks, and his voice is so sweet, so different from all those times when Wataru spots him leaving his flat and going to work and he feels the urge to shout his name out loud, apparently. Tomoya tightens his lips and breaths hard with his nose, before letting his shoulder raise a bit. “Are you having a hard time with your thief friend?”

“He’s not a friend, he’s a nightmare,” 

“How long has it been now, since you’re chasing him?”

Wataru pours tea on Tomoya’s cup, the hot steam brushing his nose, his cheeks, and making him feel less tense. He wraps his hand around the cup, hotness spreading through his fingers and warming him up - the weather is becoming less inclement day by day, so that little cup between his hands is a blessing. “It’s over a year, now;” he sighs, and he doesn’t want to sound to desperate, but at the moment is too tired to even try to conceal his real feelings. He lifts the cup and takes his time to breathe his scent, and before he takes a sip he lets go another sigh. “And I’m starting to go mad. I feel like he’s just playing around.”

“Maybe he likes you.”

“Why is this the second time I have to hear these words.”

Wataru chuckles, a hand covering his mouth. “Maybe because it’s true. Isn’t it amazing? A man you know nothing about longing for your attention. It sounds like the beginning of a love novel.”

“He’s a criminal, Hibiki-san. A criminal with too much free time, if I can be honest.”

He sips his tea, closed eyes and every single muscle of his body way too tense. Scenes of the last time he and the Phantom Thief met keep repeating in loop in his mind. 

He’s probably just being delusional. 

“I hope you’ll catch him soon, Tomoya-kun. You deserve it.” 

Tomoya doesn’t notice anything, around him, too lost into his thoughts, just a bit distracted by the taste of his matcha tea on his tongue. He doesn’t notice, at least until he feels two hands pressing gently over his shoulders, Wataru’s fingers sinking on his soft flesh.

“H-Hibiki-san?”

“Drink your tea.” 

It sounds like a order, more than a gentle request, but he stops worrying about it the moment Wataru starts to massage him, pushing his nerves; Tomoya feels a ball of warmth invading his stomach, and he puts the cup on the table as soon as he feels his arms being wobbly. He moans, just a bit, his voice low, soft as his eyes open - he’s glad Wataru is behind him now.

Because he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. 

“You’re really too tense, it’s not good for your health. Relax.”

“It’s not that easy,” and Tomoya would like to sound bitter, but the massage is already taking an effect on him. “I just want a holiday.”

“Detectives never go on holiday, Tomoya-kun.” 

He hates, how Wataru seems cheerful about anything, how he never bends, never stops smiling, never shows a weak side. Tomoya often wonders how he does it, how he keeps collected in every occasion, even if he works until late. He never seems tired, like he belonged to another dimension.

“How are you so good at this?” he asks, his guard down, his head hanging. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

He hopes it doesn’t sound like a compliment.

“Ahah, Tomoya-kun, are you trying to flatter me? Because you do, you know. I’m an actor, after all. I can become everything you want.”

Ah. That’s bad. 

Warmth is spreading through his body, but Tomoya doesn’t know if it’s because of the tea or because of Wataru’s hands still on his shoulders. He’ll never admit it, but it’s nice, the sweet shiver shaking his body each time Wataru rubs his fingers over his shoulders; he feels less tense, less nervous, maybe a bit too much. 

He likes it, and at the same time, he doesn’t. 

“It’d be better if you took off your shirt,” Wataru whispers, and maybe Tomoya is just imaging the teasing tone of his words, but that doesn’t prevent his stomach to tighten a bit. He shakes his head, unable to speak - he doesn’t trust himself, he doesn’t want to make Wataru think that he’s feeling weak to that touch. And Wataru laughs, a soft brush of air on his ear. “I’m joking. Well, I’m not, but it’s okay. Are you feeling better?”

He feels cornered. He feels better - he feels damn good, actually - but he’s scared that admitting him out loud might lead to disastrous consequences. So he nods, slowly, swallowing a knot of warmth that slips right into his stomach. 

He’s nervous now, but in a different way. He’s too self-conscious, and Wataru’s hands are so good, so hot, so-

“I should go now,” he blabbers all of sudden, his neck burning, his hands moving frantically on his lap. Wataru stops as soon as he hears those words, brushing his hands against his shoulder and giving him a pat. “Thank you for the tea. And the-”

“Anytime.”

Wataru always smiles. Tomoya wonders if he’s wearing a mask.

 

“What the hell am I doing…” are the first words that leave his mouth once he gets home and buries his face on the pillow. Well, he didn’t do anything wrong, but the problem is a little bit… _deeper_.

He still feels Wataru’s fingers over his shoulders. There’s still warmth lingering on his skin, even if his neighbour didn’t touch it directly. He can feel the phantom of his touch, his digits pressing on the flesh, his nerves tensing and relaxing just at the thought of it. 

He doesn’t feel comfortable around Wataru. He hasn’t realised yet why, but he can’t help feeling nervous when they are together - he can barely manage to talk normally to him when they’re divided by Wataru’s balcony, so being side by side makes things a little… awkward. 

He’s too self-aware, when Wataru talks to him, waves at him, smiles at him - he feels like he’s being put on stage under a thousand spotlights. He’s not used to it, and that makes him feel strange, too warm and… and.

He touches his shoulders, sighing against the soft fabric of the pillow. He should talk about this with someone, because if he keeps it in his mind, he’s afraid it will just grow bigger. But how could he even try to speak about the feeling of anticipation that fills his stomach each time he and Wataru cross paths? 

He can’t. He’ll be dead before even pronouncing a word.

“What the hell, what the hell…” he repeats, rolling on his bed. He opens his arms and stares at the ceiling, filling his cheeks with air before he lets it go with a hard sigh. His flat is buried in silence, and at some point he can clearly hear the sound of a lock filling the air, Wataru leaving his flat to go to the theatre, probably. 

He should go to one of his play, once in a while. Maybe it could help him relax. 

Maybe not. 

He takes his phone, glad to see no notifications on the screen. He scrolls the address book, looking for a friend’s name, wondering if he’s being an idiot, right now.  
Is he worrying too much over a stupid paranoia?

 _I need to talk with someone. Breakfast tomorrow y/n?_ he types, faster than light so that he can’t reconsider. He sends the mail and awaits an answer that comes in a few seconds.

_Of course, Tomoya-kun._

 

Hajime Shino is an angel incarnate, Tomoya is sure of this. He wouldn’t explain why he accepted to have breakfast with him at seven in the morning, otherwise. They sit at the table of a cute bakery near their agency, filled with the sweet, first rays of sunshine. Tomoya likes that place: the tinkling of spoons over the cups’ ceramic, the smell of muffins and cakes, all those sounds and scents soothe his heart, and makes him calmer. 

He might even manage to talk. 

“So, Tomoya-kun,” Hajime starts, a sweet smile bending on his face. He’s soothing, too. “What did you want to talk about?”

Maybe not.

“Ah. Uhm… it’s not really important… it’s so stupid that… maybe I shouldn’t have called you-”

“Tomoya-kun.”

Damn. 

“You would have never asked me to talk if it wasn’t something serious. What happened?”

“I think I’m having a breakdown,” he decides to start, leaving his tea on its cup and burying his face on his hands. “I have a hard time sleeping at night, my sleep schedule is absolutely _fucked_. I live with my phone next to the pillow because I might get a call from the police and I wake up every. Single. Hour. I’m even trying to avoid coffee because they say it doesn’t help anxiety but well, let me tell you, it’s a lie. I’m anxious, and I don’t sleep. And each time I fall asleep I dream about _him_ , and he laughs at me, and he runs away and I wake up before yelling at him that he’s a jerk. And then there’s my neighbour and he’s way too eccentric and I never know how to deal with his damned displays of affection. Because he-”

“Breathe, Tomoya-kun.”

And he does as Hajime says, taking his time to fill his lungs with air again. He takes the cup on his hands, and he’s about to take a sip when Hajime talks again.

“Is your neighbour… harassing you?”

Thank God he didn’t take it. He coughs, though, his ears reddening as he feels his body getting hotter, and all of sudden he regrets all his life choices.

“He’s not;” and his voice is pitch high, so much that someone turns to look at them - just to add embarrassment over embarrassment, how cute. “He’s not harassing me. He’s just… too demonstrative?”

“And you don’t like that.”

“... that’s not it.”

“... oh.”

He doesn’t like the little smile that blooms on Hajime’s lips - he knows he would never make fun of him, not when he’s so desperate, at least, but still he reads too much, in that look that Tomoya wished he could just become fog and disappear.

“Don’t _oh_ me, Hajime-kun, please, this is being embarrassing enough without your help.”

“I’m sorry,” and he hides a little chuckle behind his hand, before he dunks a cookie on his caffellatte. “It was indelicate. But I don’t understand. If you enjoy it, what’s the problem?”

Will this torture ever end.

“I don’t enjoy it, stop assuming the wrong.” He tries to stay collected, he really does, but it’s hard when the eyes of the individual in front of you looks at you with shiny eyes and expectation. “It’s just… distracting. I can’t focus when he’s around, and at the moment I’ve to think about that thief, I just can’t… manage two freaks at once.” 

“You should sort your problems one by one, Tomoya-kun. If you worry too much about too many things at once, your head will explode. You can count on me, if you need help catching the thief. You can count on Mitsuru-kun as well, even if he looks like he’s good just at bringing coffee.” Hajime blushes as his own words as soon as he realises what he has said. “I mean. He’s actually good at others things. Not just coffee.”

“Yes, I got what you mean, don’t worry. And… thank you. But he threw me a challenge and I can’t refuse. But… I’ll ask for help, if I’ll be in need.”

“And what about your neighbour?”

“... I’ll think about him later.”

 

The next two days are somehow empty, too quiet: the Phantom Thief is disappeared in the dark, on board of that huge balloon that sometimes Tomoya wonders where is hidden. Maybe he has got tired to be chased, maybe he’s just giving him a break - Tomoya likes to think that the Thief has some special consideration of him, but he’s sure it’s just a coincidence, the fact that he complained about his mental state and suddenly he stopped demanding his attention. 

He’s resting on his bed, now, the mattress filled with sheets of paper, press clipping scattered before him. Not a picture, not a frame of the Phantom Thief’s face - the only evidence that he’s real, that he exists, are the journalists’ picture of his balloon in the air, so striking that he really wonders if the thief isn’t too sure of himself, to travel with something like that. 

Tomoya brushes the clipping papers, sighing, his heart feeling somehow empty, now that he has nothing to do, now that his only worry is investigating on a man who’s apparently cheating on his wife. 

Why people can’t take care of their loved ones, anyway?

It’s not his business, anyway. Oh well, it is, since he’s working on that case and he’s paid for it, but he now finds those kind of tasks rather boring. It’s hard to admit it, but he misses chasing him. Or better, he misses the thrill, he misses the adrenaline. Has he become a junkie?

He’s confused. By him, by the whole situation. It’s been a year since the chase has begun, and still Tomoya hasn’t get the reason behind the Thief’s job. The objects he steals are precious, rare, diamond jewels and relics belonging to a time so far in the past to be even imagined. He puts his life at stake, jumping on roofs and flying away in a balloon nobody seems able to trace despite its size, and someone would think he holds the items he steals dear, hidden somewhere out of reach. 

But he doesn’t. Tomoya has figured out that the Thief acts like a sort of Robin Hood, a man that reinstates a lost balance through robbing- he acts like a lost and found, because the items he takes away from those rich houses find their place somewhere else, in the hands of those that Tomoya always finds out to be their real owners. Nobody gets under arrest because there’s no evidence that those items were stolen, and that’s the part Tomoya hates the most, because he didn’t become a detective to let crimes unpunished, but that’s not his field so he has to leave everything in the hands of the police. Which is good, thinking about it, because he wouldn’t be able to deal with the extra stress. 

Tomoya wonders if he will be able to catch him, he wonders what he’ll do once he frees himself for that burden. In his head, the Phantom Thief has taken the shape of a bird, impossible to cage. Should he be the one to cut his wings?

Why does the Thief want to be caught by him? Sometimes, Tomoya wishes they could sit in a cafè, so that he might ask all those question filling his head - the thought of it makes him laugh, though. 

“Where are you,” he whispers, and in the moment he picks up one of the news clipping his phone rings, and his heart loses a beat.

 

Tomoya’s fingers tremble while he holds the envelope, blue ink elegantly writing his name, a blue rose like a seal, his own peculiarity. 

“I’m sorry, it was your day off and-” Nazuna Nito apologises, bending way too much. Tomoya is fond of Nazuna, he’s his mentor inside that office, somehow, so he doesn’t really like to see him like that. 

“Please, there’s nothing to apologise for,” and he smiles, or at least he tries to, while his eyes are glued to that letter, to the address written in a beautiful writing - too beautiful to belong to an ordinary man. “When did you get this?”

“Half an hour ago,” and Nazuna voice is apologetic, like it was his fault for not noticing. “I was taking a break when I saw the envelope on your locker.”

“Did you warn the police?”

“It’s on the way.”

Tomoya swallows hard, while his hands start sweating a bit. He can feel it, his heart racing in his rib cage, his muscle tensing, yearning to move on their own. He tries to breathe slowly, to calm down - two days without any notice from him and now here they are, to the starting point. 

“Let’s catch him, tonight,” he whispers more to himself than to Nazuna, but the other nods, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulders.

“You can do it, Tomoya-kun.”

He wishes he was right.

Red lights are surrounding the manor, twenty men ready to shot at that damned balloon if it gets into sight. Tomoya looks around, searching for a sign that the Thief is already here - he probably is, hiding somewhere in the dark. Is he a magician, making his means of transportation disappear like that without anybody noticing? He imagines him for a moment, tapping a wand on his hat and making it appear and disappear to his liking. He would laugh, if it wasn’t for the situation he’s in.

Nazuna and Kunugi are talking to Otogari, one of the policemen working with them that night. He likes that man: his attitude is so placid that sometimes Tomoya wishes he could take Akiomi’s place - something that, sadly enough, will never happen. He shakes his head, focusing on the manor before his eyes, looking for evidences. The owner of the building is outside, absolutely pissed by the whole situation. He would say him he’s not alone, but at the moment the only thing he can think about is the Thief, so he lets Hajime and Mitsuru deal with him. He just asks if he can go in, and when the man gives him permission, he leaves everyone behind and steps into the house.

It’s huge.

And a bit scary, if he must be totally honest. Every light in the house is turned on because of safety reasons. The hall is spacious, a checkered floor in dark blue and cream opening before his feet. He’s starting to feel nervous; everything in that room is way too quiet to trust the sudden, peaceful atmosphere. He sighs, heavy as the weight on his chest, looking around while he enters the room, the voices coming from outside fainting and being swallowed by thick silence.

The room where the most valuable item in the house is on the second floor - Kunugi has described it as a _tantou_ that dates back to the Kamakura period, a relic of historical relevance and impossible to evaluate. He climbs the stairs, his eyes focused as much as his ears, ready to catch any glimpse of that man, ready to hear any single sound. His heart is jumping in his chest, and as he takes another step he can’t help to hope to get a sign soon. 

And the Phantom Thief grants his wish. 

It’s when Tomoya reaches the second floor that the lights suddenly turn off, leaving him in the dark. He can hear the panicked voices of his co-workers outside the building, and he probably recognizes Hajime’s one among them, but he can’t step back now. That’s clearly an invite and he should accept it.

He doesn’t realise he’s holding his lower lip between his teeth until it starts to hurt. He brushes it with his tongue, feeling the metallic taste of blood where the skin is chapped. Ah. He’s nervous. Once again, he can feel his ears ringing, blood running through his veins like crazy. 

He wants to catch him, he wants to take off that damned mask and look at his face, know who’s behind a year of struggles, a year spent trying to reach his hand, and get the credit he deserves. He clenches his fists, while he walks through the hallway, holding his breath as if he could get distracted just by inhaling air. 

Where should he go? He looks around, and there’s a door every three steps - for a moment, Tomoya feels like he is in a hotel, with all those rooms next to each other. Some of them are closed, others are just empty bedrooms, a bathroom, an utility room. And he starts to wonder if he misunderstood, when he heard about the relic, maybe it’s not on that floor, maybe…

“Come, Little Rabbit.”

That voice, so soft and at the same time tantalizing, shakes his chest and makes his legs wobbly. He follows it, like a mouse with the sound of the Hamelin’s pipe, ready to throw himself in cold water. The Phantom Thief is humming, attracting him into his alluring trap, and Tomoya is sure that he’s the only one being that anxious, now. For that man, this is just a play. 

And then, when he opens the door, their eyes meet, and he feels paralysed. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Little Rabbit.”

He hates his voice, he hates the way he pronounces that nickname like his whole tongue was covered in sugar, honey dripping from his lips. It twists his stomach, making him feel hot, a discomfort that tenses up his nerves, and makes him grit his teeth. 

“Stop calling me like that,” he says, his voice echoing in the room. The Phantom Thief sits on the empty showcase in the middle of the room, the shiny relic already in his hands. “The building is surrounded. You won’t get it this time.”

“Innocent, little Rabbit. I’ve already won this round.” He plays with the _tantou_ , turning it around his hands without interrupting their eye contact. Tomoya swallows, taking a step further into the room. 

He’s majestic, with half of his body covered by his black cape, his face partially hidden behind a golden mask, adorned with little shiny jewels. Tomoya wants to tear it off and find out what hides behind him, he wants to know, he wants to _know_. The Phantom Thief has no face in his dreams, and he can’t stand it. 

He deserves to know. 

“Give it back,” he says, hands clutched in fists. He doesn’t want to rush things, he must understand how to play his cards, how to catch the bird and put it on a cage. The window behind the Thief is still open - how he wishes he could make the others know where he is…

“I won’t,” the Thief smiles, brushing that long braid resting on his shoulder. “This relic doesn’t belong here.”

“You must stop,” and his voice raises, while he takes a step more. He can feel his fists trembling, while his mind starts racing too fast - don’t rush, don’t rush, he repeats on his mind. 

He can’t lose the chance. “Why do you put yourself in danger like that? It’s useless, it’s-”

“Are you worried about me, Little Rabbit?”

“I’m not,” and even if he’s aware that the Thief is just mocking him, he can’t really stay calm. “But let me tell you that you’re an idiot.”

“You’re so right,” and it’s annoying, the way he puts a hand before his mouth, laughing softly at his words, “I’m an idiot. Yours. Remember that my only purpose is to make you shine.”

And he never gets what that means, because Tomoya is still sure that the Thief is playing around, having fun, seeing a man like him struggling to achieve his aim. 

“Come closer.”

It’s not the Thief, the idiot one. He holds his breath as he takes another step, feeling like he is falling right into the Wolf’s trap. 

“Are you going to let me catch you?”

“Maybe.”

He hates that smile, so bright, so wide. Tomoya wants to rip it off, to delete it from the world and live in peace again, and still, somewhere inside his chest, he knows that he’s just lying to himself. 

And he hates this more than that smile. 

He can smell his scent, the aroma of roses coming from that slender, tall body in front of him. The thief bends towards him, his legs still crossed on the showcase and an arm reaching him up.

This is not going to end well. Tomoya stops a few steps from the Thief, looking at that hand, an offer that he should refuse because he won’t bring nothing good. He raises his eyes and looks at the Thief, that smile still painted on his thin lips, too much happiness hiding his beautiful eyes. 

Can he live with the illusion to reach for that hand? Can he hold it tight, straighten his grasp around that wrist, and think to be the winner, just for a few seconds? His arm raises on his own, his fingers brushing the back of the Thief’s hand, covered in black gloves, but still warm. 

He doesn’t know when he stopped breathing. 

He can hear the Thief’s chuckling on his ear, soft, warm breath gently brushing his face. Tomoya is glad the lights are off, because he’s starting to feel hot and he wouldn’t ever want to give that man the chance to make fun of it because of his cheeks turning red. He swallows, torturing his lower lip again, eyes locked on his own hand around that wrist - so thin, almost bony.

He wants to look at him, look at his face, get a hint, a distinguishing feature that will help him find the Thief outside of this manor, there in the real world. And he’s scared, because he thinks that the magic will vanish soon, and he doesn’t want to, and still his mind reprimands him and tells him he should call for help. 

He’s under a spell. 

He meets his eyes, so close, full of a life that Tomoya wonders if it’s just a lie. He can’t distinguish their colour in the dark of the room, but Tomoya knows that shade of violet way too well by now. His grasp tightens, as he can feel his lungs filling with air again, and adrenaline rushing through his veins and making him feel dizzy, as if he was living in a dream. 

“Does it feels good?”

Tomoya inhales too fast, so fast that his lungs hurt for a moment. He doesn’t answer, too busy holding him, his muscles shivering with the pleasure of adrenaline. He feels it. He _knows_ that the moment is coming, the moment in which he will feel victory disappearing in a cloud of dust.

“I wish I could stay with you forever, Little Rabbit, but I must go.”

And his smile is so soft, almost apologetic as he pronounces those words, that Tomoya almost believes them. He knows he’s losing again, and tightening his grasp another more won’t help, because his range of vision is suddenly covered in smoke, and the moment he starts to cough is the moment he knows everything has come to an end. 

He shakes the air with his free hand, while the other one suddenly grasps the air for a moment. Behind him, the sound of hurried steps fills the room, and in a moment he is surrounded by the police, by his co-workers who try to help him clear the air. Something takes the place of the Thief’s wrist, and as the smoke clears he sees the outline of a flower between his fingers.

A blue rose. 

“Until next time,” he can hear through his colleagues’ voices, while he runs at the window and sticks his head out of it. He can’t see his face anymore, too far from him to distinguish his features, but he’s sure the Thief is winking at him as he waves his hand. His balloon is flying already too far from the police to get him by shooting at it, and as Tomoya feels the rush of adrenaline running out, all the frustration he feels is expressed through Kunugi’s voice thundering in the room. 

Until next time.


	2. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie they're watching is Flying Colours, and it's a good movien and made me cry like a child for most of it because if you feel an ordinary human being it really strikes you and kills you and gives you hope. Watch it, if you can, you won't regret it.  
> THANK YOU FOR YOUR FEEDBACK you made me so happy ç___ç I hope this chapter will be liked as much!! ♥

Coffee won’t save him, not this time.  
  
He has spent the whole day listening to Kunugi’s complaint, listening to the endless list of things that don’t work within the agency, listening to the list of things that Tomoya should have done better. As if it was easy, running behind a freak with a mask that likes to play like a damned child.  
  
He’s bitter. Absolutely bitter, so angry with everyone around him that he spends the few time his ears are free from his boss’ voice sulking on his armchair and glaring at anyone trying to approach him as if he wanted to put them on fire. Mitsuru tries to buy his favour with a slice of cake bought at his favourite bakery, and Tomoya stared at him for a whole hour before taking just a bit, and leave the rest on the plate.  
  
It’s a blessing, where the clock strikes six o’clock and he’s free to go home, and leave work behind his office’s door at least for today. He’s sure the Thief won’t show, today, he never does on Thursday, only God knows why. He probably is just an ordinary man with an ordinary life, and Thursday is the only day he can have fun and doesn’t request Tomoya’s presence.  
  
At least, he can rest. He’s still worn out, haunted by the phantom of the grasp around those wrists - victory tasted sweet for a second and then turned into the sad, usual bitter truth.  
  
Maybe he will never catch him.  
  
He hasn’t thrown that blue rose, though. He took it home, put it on a vase in the hallway, right after his _genkan_ , just to see it when he leave his home and when he comes back, as a reminder of his own failure.  
  
He wishes he was a blue rose. He wishes too many things, lately, and neither one of them will become real.  
  
At least, he can see his apartment at the end of the road. He sticks an hand in his bag, searching for the gate key - he just wants to sink on his bed and stay there until he dies, and hopefully he’ll be able to. It’s when he’s finally inside the building that he hears Wataru’s voice resounding in the stairwell, and for a moment Tomoya thinks that he’s not ready to deal with him, but then, as he raises his head, he sees someone he has never met before, standing in front of Wataru’s door.  
  
“Are you sure you’re fine walking home? It’s cold outside.”  
  
“You fret too much, Wataru. I’m fine. But thanks for worrying.”  
  
“I can drive you home if- Oh, Tomoya-kun, welcome back!”  
  
He noticed him, after all. He hoped to go unnoticed, but he should know by now that Wataru never loses the chance to talk to him - even when he’s in front of some kind of angel, apparently.  
  
“Good evening, Hibiki-san. Ehrr…”  
  
“Ah, sure. Do you remember, I’ve talked you about him. He’s the tea addicted, and a dear friend of mine. Tomoya-kun, let me introduce you Eichi Tenshouin. Eichi…”  
  
The man turns towards him, as Tomoya takes the last steps before reaching them. They bow at the same time, and Eichi smiles gently as he looks right into his eyes.  
  
“Ah, Wataru’s friend. He has told me a lot about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tomoya-kun,” he says, and his voice is soft, a bit hoarse, as if he’s having a sore throat. Tomoya tries to smile back, as they straighten their back again.  
  
“The pleasure is mine, Tenshouin-san.”  
  
His smile is gentle, sweet, maybe too much. He turns towards Wataru, and Tomoya can see it, the right moment in which that stranger’s glance becomes softer. “Anyway, I’ll take my leave now. And you,” and he raises a hand, brushing a lock of Wataru’s hair before putting it behind his ear, “don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”  
  
… he suddenly feels as if he’s some sort of third wheel.  
  
He follows Eichi with his glare, rather to hide the embarrassment showing on his face than for a real interest. He waves at him, when Eichi shakes his hand before he disappears behind the door, but it takes a bit before he’s able to look at Wataru again.  
  
“You are… intimate,” it’s the first thing coming out from his mouth once they are alone again, and Wataru laughs softly, leading to the door and crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“He’s family. He was my best friend during high school. He still is. He’s in poor health, so I check on him once in a while, and he thinks he’s obliged to do the same, so I let him.”  
  
Tomoya senses something more, behind his words, but he’s not sure he wants to investigate any further. He would probably feel like stepping on a private land, somewhere he shouldn’t be allowed to enter. So he lets the subject drop, the tiredness of the days starting to drain his forces. Wataru must feel the same, though, because he’s the one who talks again. “How was work, today?”  
  
“Awful. It’s always awful after… you know.”  
  
“I’ve read the newspaper, yes. He is giving you a hard time, isn’t he?”  
  
He nods, rubbing the root of his nose. “Yeah. But well. Work is work after all. I’ll catch him sooner or later.”  
  
And he finds the courage to look Wataru in the eyes, just to find a gentle smile greeting him.  
  
Ah, he hates how his heart plays funny.  
  
“I’m sure you will.”  
  
“Now, I’m really sorry but I need to-” and he points at the door of his own house, smiling awkwardly. Wataru nods, taking a step back and holding a hand on the door.  
  
“Ah, of course, of course. I’m sorry I detained you for so long. Please rest well.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
He’s about to open the door of his safe space, when Wataru speaks again.  
  
“Ah, Tomoya-kun?” he turns his head towards Wataru, finding a radiant smile - as always, after all. Is there something in the world that makes him lose his good temper? “There’s a nice movie on TV later, and since I’ve no rehearsal tonight I was wondering if you want to join me and… watch it together. If you’re not too tired.”  
  
The first instinct is to scream _no_ \- as he has already done plenty of times - and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t listen to it, this time. He bends his lips, tired as he is, and slowly nods. He might be stupid, but Wataru’s eyes enlighten like fireworks after that simple gesture, and Tomoya feels… happy? Satisfied? Something like that. Too tired to even understand himself. “Will you give me at least a few hours to rest?”  
  
“Of course. Please rest as much as you need. I’ll be waiting.”  
  
“Mh. See you tonight, then,” and as he turns around before Wataru can answer him, he feels his face going on fire.  
  
He can clearly hear Hajime’s giggling on his ears.

  
  


“I’ve brought popcorns.”  
  
And it’s not like he went to buy them sacrificing his rest; he just happened to have a long forgotten bag in his sideboard - when was the last time he had the time to stop and watch a movie, anyway?  
  
Wataru seems happy, though, so he doesn’t even mind to reveal his little secret. Tomoya is still tired - and oh, it’s so hard to admit it, but he is still thinking about that Tenshoin guy and the intimate gesture he assisted to, like a video in loop in his head. He thought about it while he was taking a shower, he thought about it when he was having dinner alone on his bed because he was too tired to get to the dining room. He was even tempted to write to Hajime and ask him about his mood but thank God he stopped on time.  
  
He doesn’t need to know, not now.  
  
So, when Wataru makes him enter his apartment, Tomoya decides to leave every thought behind the door, and just focus on the movie they are going to watch. There’s a nice smell, inside the apartment, something new and tasteful that makes his mouth water.  
  
“I’ve made some snacks. And please make yourself comfortable, I’m coming.”  
  
Wataru closes the door and disappears in an instant, as if he was some kind of magician and played a trick on him. Tomoya stares at the empty space beside him, before taking any step further and intruding the living room. He doesn’t sit on the couch right away: he takes a moment to look around, to look at the pictures hanging to the wall, at the venetian masks that give that place a touch of colour.  
  
“Do you like them?” and Wataru is leaning on his shoulder, and he doesn’t look to care about the fact that Tomoya jumps on his feet, when he notices his presence again. He doesn’t scream, that God, but his heart starts to race like a fool, and he doesn’t really like it.  
  
“Ah- yes. They’re pretty.”  
  
“That one,” and he points at the first one on their left, a red mask with black embellishment, made of lace and little gems, “Eichi bought it for me during one of his last travels in Italy, a few years ago. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  
  
Tomoya nods slowly, looking at him again, feeling his stomach twisting a bit at the mention of Eichi’s name. But he’s really resolute about not thinking about him for tonight, so he just shakes his head, wearing his lips thin.  
  
“It is,” and he can’t help to make some words slip from his lips, “you must like Tenshouin-san a lot, am I right?”  
  
“Oh, I cherish him a lot indeed,” and he laughs, Wataru, as he takes a step back and goes towards the couch, turning out the lights, food served on the small table before it. “Honestly, I was able to be who I am thanks to him. I owe him a lot. But,” and he falls on the couch, arms in the air - and Tomoya can’t see his face, but he’s sure he’s smiling, “let’s talk about this later, if you want to know more. The movie is about to start, come, come, Tomoya-kun.”  
  
He obliges the request, turning around the couch and taking place next to Wataru - the couch isn’t that large, and feeling Wataru’s hip brushing against his own is a bit… overwhelming. “What are we going to see?” he asks, not really interested. He’s just trying not to think too much about their body being so close, at the moment.  
  
And it’s a difficult task. Very difficult.  
  
“It’s a comedy drama. You’ll like it, I’m sure of it. It’s the story of someone who… oh well, you’ll see.”  
  
Tomoya really hopes he will be able to follow it since he already feels tired, the only part of him still fully awaken being his heart beating at the speed of light. Wataru isn’t helping at all, warm against his body. The weather is getting colder day by day, as Winter approaches and Fall dies with its red and yellow leaves, and being forced to be so near to Wataru makes him feel… warm and fuzzy.  
  
And he’s not sure he likes it.  
  
The last advertising on tv ends, and the movie starts. It would be so good, if his eyelids didn’t feel already that heavy, though. He manages to resist for the first half - and the movie doesn’t even seem that bad, with a girl without talent - just like him - that starts to try her best when someone takes her hand and guides her through that huge, horrible obstacle that is being ordinary. Is someone holding Tomoya’s hand too, as he tries to get through his own weaknesses, his own mediocrity?  
  
Does the Thief really want him to shine or he’s just playing a prank on him?  
  
Ah, he’s too tired to even think about it right now.  
  
Will Wataru notice, if he closes his eyes a bit? He can follow the dialogues, he’s not that sleepy, but if he forces himself he’s sure he will end the day with a horrible headache, and he still has to go to work, tomorrow. And so he does it, just for a bit, a few minutes will be enough to survive until the movie ends.  
  
He distracts just a bit, just for a moment, but at what cost. It’s a nice feeling, the one spreading on his neck, and then through his whole spine, a shiver that warms him up and makes him stiffen a bit, a reflex caused by surprise. Wataru is playing with his hair, brushing his nape slowly, when the locks slips between his fingers, before he catches them again.  
  
He’s wide awake, now. Probably it’s just an illusion, but the shock of the moment is strong enough to give him the courage to turn his head towards Wataru, hoping that he will look back at him, and stop that… _thing_ that right moment.  
  
But Wataru isn’t looking at him, eyes glued to the screen - he seems so focused that Tomoya thinks he’s probably analyzing the acting, more than caring about the movie itself. It’s like that hand between his hair is moving on his own, moved by a will that doesn’t belong to Wataru’s body. He wants him to stop, and he’s about to raise a hand to shake him, but he stops before even trying.  
  
He swallows, feeling as if he fell in a trap he set himself. It’s hard to admit the truth, it’s hard to admit that the problem is not with him being too tired to protest, but it lies more on the fact that he really doesn’t want Wataru to stop.  
  
“H-Hibiki… san…” he blabbers, voice low and drawled as he lowers his face again towards the screen of the television. Wataru stops, and Tomoya already regrets to have come there - he should have declined his invite and stay on his bed all day, instead of…  
  
“What’s up?” Wataru asks, as his fingers start to move again and he crosses his legs, too relaxed, so relaxed Tomoya finds it almost annoying.  
  
He wants to be relaxed to, he doesn’t want to feel a ball of anxiety and…  
  
Expectation.  
  
He doesn’t answer, realising how things might worsen if he speaks his thoughts. He wouldn’t know what to say, anyway - he wouldn’t want to know the answer to the only question that has haunted him for months, now.  
  
_What did I do to take your interest?_  
  
Tomoya lives with the phantom of a life made of failure, of mistakes he’s not sure he will put right to. He’s boring, just a shadow, an ordinary man in a world already full of people like him. He’s not a diamond, a precious jewel that needs to be polished. He’s more like a gray stone in a land of gray stones. Nobody has ever noticed him until now so why, among all the people in the world, is Wataru Hibiki to look at him more than anyone else?  
  
Wataru’s fingers push against his nape, massaging it slowly, as if they had all the time of the world. Tomoya, on the other hands, doesn’t know how he feels anymore. He would cry, if he was alone, because he’s so tired that his nerves are failing on him, and he really doesn’t know where he finds the strength to stay collected. He takes a deep breath, bowing his hand and closing his eyes.  
  
“You’re always so tense, Tomoya-kun…” and Wataru’s voice is low, warm, _hot_ , and resonates on his chest, making his spine shiver again and again. He feels strange, the gloom he feels because of exhaustion mixing with something new, something he never thought he could feel growing inside him. He feels numb, as the sounds around him start to come softer to his ears, and his eyelids are already too heavy to stay open.  
  
He’s sorry. For the movie he won’t get to see, for himself for being so pitiful as he slides a bit towards Wataru. He feels the other’s arm moving behind him, that hand now sinking on his hair as Wataru gives him free access to his chest. He doesn’t know why he feels so warm, why he feels like his heart is going to explode, and the last coherent thought he’s able to process before letting himself go is that if it’s love, that feeling blooming and filling his heart, well.  
  
He’s too scared to accept it.  
  
Everything around is distant, soften, as if he was surrounded by cotton candy. He feels a gentle brush of lips on his forehead, and before he can protest, he’s already asleep.

“Wakey wakey, Tomoya-kun. The movie ended a while ago, isn’t it better if you sleep on your bed? Though I’ll be glad to be your pillow for as long as you like.”  
  
Tomoya grumbles, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t know where he is, what happened - the last thing he remembers is the face of that teenage girl on the screen cutting her hair and going from being a ganguro to be a plain, absolutely anonymous human being. There’s something else, stuck on his mind as if it doesn’t want to let him know, and Tomoya really can’t figure out what it is, at least until he feels a gentle stroke over his head.  
  
Suddenly, he wants to die.  
  
“H-H-Hibiki-san, I’m sorry!”  
  
He straightens himself up, pushing Wataru away. How did he let himself fall asleep on him of all the things he could do? His face is burning in shame, in embarrassment, while the last thoughts he had before falling asleep come to his mind as a river overflowing its bank. He can’t look at Wataru’s face, but he can clearly _feel_ his gaze lingering on his body. And Tomoya hates him, when he starts to laugh and brushes his shoulder gently.  
  
“What for? You were tired. It was my fault for inviting you in the first place. But you were sleeping so deeply what I didn’t dare to wake you up.”  
  
Tomoya nods frantically, looking around in search of a clock - how late is it? He has work tomorrow morning, how much did he sleep?  
  
“I’m really sorry,” he says again, getting up and straighten his trousers up, trying to avoid eye contact as much as possible, “I must go, it’s late and, oh my-”  
  
“Tomoya-kun.”  
  
He stops, and looks at him - and he regrets it instantly.  
  
“I…”  
  
“You’re worrying too much over nothing. But I bet you are really tired so, let me accompany you to the door. Just give me a second.”  
  
Wataru gets up, and the ponytail holding his hair, swinging over his back, is hypnotic. Tomoya stares at it, still in a daze, and starts to head to the doorway, waiting for Wataru to reach him. And when he gets back, he’s holding a ticket on his hand, a smile wide and bright on his face. “Take this, please.” Tomoya looks at the piece of paper, trying to read what is written over it. But he’s just too tired to focus, so he lets Wataru speak for it. “I’m playing on theatre, tomorrow night. I’d be glad if you could come.”  
  
Tomoya’s lips wear thin, as he holds the ticket between his fingers. He really wants to go, he wants to see Wataru at his best, be a witness of his talent and watch him as he conquers the stage. He still feels his cheeks burning, but he tries to raise his face a bit, just to look at Wataru’s eyes and give him a proper answer.  
  
“I’ll come if my presence is not required at work.”  
  
And he’s sure that Wataru knows what he means. He seems satisfied with his answer anyway, because he gently bows his head as he opens the door.  
  
“I really hope you’ll be able to.”  
  
He hopes the same too.

He used to go to the theatre so much, when he wasn’t working at the agency and he had still plenty of time to spend doing the things he liked, but this is the first time that he feels so excited about it. Wataru reserved him a good place, apparently, and Tomoya feels glad because at the moment he really is surrounded by hundreds of people, and he’s sure that if he had to act on his own he would have never found a nice seat. He waits, looking around to see if he can catch his neighbour’s presence among all those attendants - he’s silly, he knows that Wataru is probably inside the theatre, putting his make up on, dressing like a - what was the playwright about again?  
  
Doors open, and people start to flood into the theatre like water, a cheerful hubbub filling the air. Tomoya follows the flow, trying to get where his seat is, and he feels a little embarrassed when, after a while, he gets there. Wataru reserved him a seat in the galleria, apparently in a section just for him. He’s amazed, as he brings himself to the railing, because he can see the whole stage from there.  
  
He looks at his watch, and it’s just a few minutes before the play starts. His eyes wander on the stage, on the projection of cherry trees spreading their pink petals in an artificial sky, on the embellishment hanging from the roof, making the stage look as it really was a field of blooming trees. And as the play starts, Tomoya is surprised to realise just that very moment that the play Wataru’s acting in as the leading actor in is a _kabuki_ play. It’s so unexpected, surprising, that Tomoya feels confused.  
  
Just how many roles can that man play?  
  
He wonders how many roles Wataru has already played, on the stage, in his life. Sometimes Tomoya wonders if he knows the real Wataru, if that man doesn’t live with a mask on his face around the clock. Wataru is weird, eccentric, someone Tomoya would never want to be related to, and still he’s attracted by him, by the endless faceting of his character - Wataru is a diamond that shines depending on the people he finds before himself, adapting his script to the crowd he wants to please. He can be a jester, a fool, he can be the strictest of all men, and a child before a toy on Christmas - and all these things together, probably.  
  
Now, on the stage, he’s being a thief.  
  
And Tomoya thinks that nobody on that stage could play the leading role if not Wataru, someone who lives his life as if it was a play itself, someone who lives with a mask on his hand and one on his face just to change it at his own pleasure. His eyes are glued to Watarus’ body moving on the stage, so elegant, almost heavenly. Tomoya blushes at his own thoughts, and he doesn’t know if that’s fate mocking him or what, but he can clearly see Wataru raising his head to look at him and wink, for a brief moment.  
  
He hates him.  
  
And he hates himself more, because of a weakness that he can clearly feel growing on him, as a sweet anxiety that he really doesn’t want to get rid off anytime soon. Tomoya relaxes on the seat and breathes, staring at the stage and trying desperately to follow the plot, instead of losing himself on his own thoughts.  
  
But it’s hard, so hard, when they run on their own piling up in his head. There is Wataru and there is the Thief intruding against his will - the Thief that doesn’t make him breathe, the Thief that wants to give him the only thing he has always desired in his whole life, a spotlight just for himself.  
  
Something that Wataru tries constantly to do, in his private. And it’s strange now, to see them walking together on his mind, side to side as fellows - and Tomoya admits it, the play isn’t helping him at all. Wataru seems so comfortable, in the role of a thief, that for a moment the two images overlap.  
  
What a silly thought.  
  
Wataru could never be the Phantom Thief - just to start, where the hell would he hide that damned balloon? It’s so stupid that he laughs at himself, as his eyes lay again on the man on the stage.  
  
But what if…

  
  


It’s raining buckets, when the play ends and everyone runs under the theatre’s porch to find a repair. Thank God he has brought an umbrella, and the taxi he called a few minutes ago should be arriving soon.  
  
He’s still thinking about the play, Wataru’s amazing acting playing behind his eyelids each time he closes his eyes. Once he let go his haunting thoughts, the whole thing was so enjoyable that now he wonders if he can ask his neighbour to invite him more often to his plays. He missed going to the theatre, so if he can why shouldn’t he enjoy that pleasure again?  
  
The taxi approaches the street, and Tomoya opens his umbrella, taking a step outside the safe spot of the porch and starting to feel rain pounding over his head, shoes already soaked. The driver looks at him, they exchange a few words, and he’s about to sit on the car, when he hears a voice calling him from behind.  
  
“Tomoya-kun! Tomoya-kun!”  
  
He turns towards the voice, and he’d scream if he wasn’t in a public space. Wataru is running towards him, make up still on, a faint red on his cheeks barely hidden by the greasepaint that is melting between his sweat and rain. His hair gets wet in a matter of seconds, and Tomoya frets to open again his umbrella to create a shelter for him.  
  
“Are you an idiot or what?” is the first thing it escapes his mouth, damn his politeness. Wataru stops just a few inches away from him and laughs, so noisy, so cheerful.  
  
Does Tomoya really hate him?  
  
“Ahah, I am, aren’t I. But I wanted to thank you, a little rain won’t kill me!”  
  
“A little rain? You’re seriously an idiot!” Tomoya feels useless, unable to do anything to dry that long hair at least a bit. But Wataru seems so happy, now, that he doesn’t even know what to do, what to say without turning that brightness off. “You could have thanked me tomorrow morning.”  
  
“But I wanted to do it now.”  
  
Why must he be so _blunt_? Tomoya looks away, biting his lip while he searches something coherent to say to that idiot man, but he feels so embarrassed at the moment that he can’t even phrase a proper sentence. The driver clears his throat, an invite to hasten whatever they’re doing, and then, Tomoya takes Wataru’s hands and puts his umbrella on them.  
  
“Well, yes, good, but now please take this, go back inside and dry yourself, or you’ll catch a cold.”  
  
He shouldn’t worry so much. He shouldn’t be so obvious, at least - he shouldn’t show Wataru so much. And still he does, and Wataru seems so glad that how could he hide his worry anyway? Wataru holds his umbrella tight, as he bends to leave a kiss on his cheek.  
  
He’s absolutely fucked.  
  
“Thank you. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”  
  
“Okay, okay, but now go, for Christ’s sake,” and he pushes him, laughing softly when Wataru runs away jumping on the road. He’s such an idiot.  
  
But Tomoya is not any way different. 

Wataru doesn’t show himself on the balcony, the day after. And it’s strange, because Wataru is the first human being he has any interaction with first in the morning. He’s surprised not to see him on the door, but when he leaves the building and he doesn’t hear his voice greeting him well, Tomoya feels like something is off.  
  
He thinks about it all day, during work, during his break. He leafs through the pages of newspaper - there is an article about the Phantom Thief on the third page that says nothing new, and a short article about the _Aoto Zoushi Hana no Nishiki-e_ of the night before, the play in which Wataru was the leading actor. He’s glad that Wataru gets noticed by the audience, by the media, but reading his name on the newspaper doesn’t help him feeling less nervous about the man not showing that morning.  
  
Should he pay him a visit, when he comes back home?  
  
“Is everything alright, Tomoya-kun?”  
  
He raises his face from the newspaper, Hajime’s eyes staring at him worryingly. He tries to be positive, but the result of it is just a crooked smile. He sighs, closing the newspaper and relaxing against his armchair, his fingers drumming on the desk.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You seems worried. What happened?”  
  
“Ah, nothing. Nothing serious. I think. I don’t know, to be honest.”  
  
“Woah. Seems rather serious for me. Want to talk about it?”  
  
He likes Hajime, he really does. And Tomoya feels a bit guilty, feeling uncomfortable talking about the matter with him, because Hajime might get a wrong idea about him and his relationship with Wataru and…  
  
… he’s worrying too much.  
  
“It’s really nothing but. Yesterday I went to see Hibiki-san at the theatre and… he usually shows off in the morning to say hi but today he didn’t so… well, I guess I’m a bit worried after all.”  
  
Hajime smiles, sweet as a candy, warm as the embrace of a blanket, and nods slowly.  
  
“I see. Maybe he was just tired and overslept. He’s a human being, after all. Did you try buzzing the intercom?”  
  
“Ah, no. I didn’t, I was already late so… I should try later.”  
  
He shouldn’t look so worried. He trusts Hajime, and they have known for so long that Tomoya supposed it’s natural for him to understand when something is wrong. But he doesn’t want to fuss over something Tomoya isn’t even sure of. Maybe Hajime is right, maybe Wataru just overslept. “Thank you, Hajime,” he adds, his smile a bit more relaxed, now.  
  
“Let me know, if he’s alright.”

  


“Let me know if you need something, okay? I’ll send you a doctor tomorrow morning and visit in the afternoon, so please rest. Don’t be an idiot.”  
  
Tomoya has just entered the building, when Eichi’s voice sounds on the stairwell and brushes his ears. He quickly goes up the stairs, reaching the landing and waiting as he looks at the man’s back, turning up his nose. Why is that man always here lately? He can hear a cough from inside the apartment, and as Eichi turns to face him, Tomoya understands.  
  
“Ah, Tomoya-kun. It’s a pleasure to see you. I’d suggest you to stay away from this idiot, if you don’t want to catch a cold.”  
  
“Stop calling me an idiot,” and Wataru’s voice behind him might be amused, but it is hoarse and tired, and he trying to find support on the door frame isn’t a good omen as well. He still waves at him and his eyes, shiny probably because of a running fever, smile - he’s sure his lips are bent in a smile as well, even if Tomoya can’t see them because his mouth is covered by a surgical mask - they both wear it.  
  
“What the…”  
  
“Ahh, Tomoya-kun, it’s a pleasure to see-” but Wataru doesn’t get to the end of the sentence, as he starts to cough again. Eichi sighs heavily, shaking his head as if he’s already tired of this, and looks at Tomoya again.  
  
“Can I entrust him to you? Put him to bed, he’s a big child needing a mother’s attention.”  
  
“I’m not his mother..?”  
  
“But I guess you can play the role well.”  
  
“Eichi...”  
  
“Oh, my. Am I about to be scolded by my Wataru? Please, you’re not in the position to do such a thing. I was just playing around anyway, don’t worry. Well, I really have to go now, so, Wataru, Tomoya-kun. See you. And you, take care of him, please.”  
  
Tomoya stares at Eichi’s back, wondering if that man feels any good _playing around_ with him. He sighs without even having the chance to answer him as the door closes behind Eichi’s back, and when his eyes go to Wataru again, he’s half bent, while he holds himself on the door.  
  
“... let me help you,” he says, making a step towards Wataru and offering his own body as a support. Wataru’s arm slides around his shoulders, and he whispers a thanks that Tomoya isn’t sure he has really pronounced, too soft and croaky to be distinguished behind the mask.  
  
He closes the door with his free hand, walking slowly through the _genkan_ and on the hallway. “Should I bring you to bed? Do you need me to take something from the living room?”  
  
“No. Please, just help me to bed.”  
  
And Tomoya obeys, a dismayed look on his face. It’s not hard, helping Wataru to lie down in bed - it’s just a bit difficult to hold him because he’s too tall for him, but somehow he manages to do it.  
  
And now, what should he do?  
  
“Tomoya-kun,” Wataru calls, interrupting his flood of thoughts before it even starts. Tomoya looks at him as he lowers the mask and smile, pink cheeks and dry lips bending just for him. He doesn’t answer, waiting for the other one to keep talking. “It’s not your fault.”  
  
“I wasn’t thinking that, I told you you were being an idiot,” but the flush spreading over his face talks for him, and he can’t really hide it. Still, he can protect himself somehow, so he sits on the floor, his back against Wataru’s bed and his eyes glued to the door in front of him, as he plays with his own fingers - if he can’t see him in the face Wataru won’t be able to figure out his feelings, will he? “I should have told you to go back.”  
  
“You did, don’t you remember?” His laugh is cracked by the small coughs he tries to hold back, and his voice sounds so pitiful that Tomoya starts to wonder if he will be ever able to leave him alone. “I was already soaked wet when you gave me your umbrella.”  
  
“You’re an idiot.”  
  
“Why is everybody calling me an idiot today?”  
  
“Maybe because you _are_.”  
  
“... I guess you’re right. I’m a fool, after all.”  
  
He would really run away, if he could. Because Tomoya is realising just now that they are inside Wataru’s room of all places, and even though Wataru is lying in bed and isn’t able to even move a finger, Tomoya doesn’t feel safe. On the contrary, he pretty much feels like Red Riding Hood who has just fallen into the Wolf’s nest. It doesn’t matter if Wataru can’t stand on his own feet.  
  
He’s not afraid of him, no. He’s afraid of himself. Dead scared, to be honest.  
  
“Thank you,” Wataru whispers, and Tomoya turns just a bit, just in time to see Wataru’s eyes on him and feel a hand gently brushing his hair. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like a fish out of water, before he manages to say something.  
  
“It’s strange to see you like this, so please get well soon,” he blabbers, pouting and looking away. In another moment he would regret saying those words, but now they feel so right that well, he doesn’t mind. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? Food? Drugs?”  
  
“I just need to rest. Will you stay with me until I fall asleep, Tomoya-kun?”  
  
He doesn’t have to give him an answer, does he? He feels Wataru’s hand slipping from his head and dropping on the bed, falling like a dead weight, but he’s still looking at him, when Tomoya turns again towards him and looks at his face. He sighs, leaning his elbow against the mattress and leaning his hand towards Wataru’s face, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes.  
  
He doesn’t speak a word, but he hopes it’s clear for Wataru what that gesture means.  
  
_I’m staying._  
  
And he means it. He means it when his fingers sink on that silver hair, he means it when he looks at Wataru’s eyes and waits until his eyelids close, blonde eyelashes throwing a shadow over his cheeks. He means it when he rubs Wataru’s head and brushes his forehead, feeling it hot against his hand. The sun is setting, outside the window, and Tomoya feels worn out, but he means it, when he’s promising that he is staying, and so he will. It doesn’t mind that he hasn’t stated it by words. He will wait until morning, if it’s necessary, and damn his work and damn the Thief, damn the feeling of self loathing that invades his thoughts almost everyday.  
  
Damn everything.  
  
If he can’t be honest with himself, he can at least give the man in front of him a bit of comfort, and hope that it will be enough, for now.  
  
At least until he figures out what’s on his mind, what’s on his heart. 

  
  


His eyelids are heavy, so heavy that it takes longer than it should, for him to open his eyes. It’s soft and comfortable, the bed he’s lying on, a warm blanket that smells of lavender warming him in the dim light of a morning that struggles to shine. He blinks, trying to focus, his room being strange, different for how he remembers it.  
  
Maybe he’s still dreaming.  
  
Maybe not.  
  
It’s already too late, when Tomoya realises where he is, and sleep leaves his body as suddenly as it came the night before, making him panic. He sits on the bed and looks around frantically, wondering why, of all the things that might have happened, he is sleeping on Wataru’s bed.  
  
And then, Tomoya sees him - or better, sees a bunch of silver hair spread on a _futon_ lying on his feet, Wataru’s face buried under the blankets. And the first instinct Tomoya has is to hit his own face _hard_ because how the hell did it happen, that he fell asleep when he was supposed to take care of him?  
  
“Hibiki-san,” he calls, pulling his blankets aside and stepping on the floor, winter giving him the worst of welcomes. He falls on his knees and searches for Wataru’s forehead, pressing his palm against it and feeling it warm. “Why can’t you stop acting so silly, God… I can’t put you in bed if you don’t wake up, please...”  
  
Maybe that’s divine punishment - for what, Tomoya doesn’t really know. He tried his best to be a good man, to work hard and try to overcome his own flaws, but maybe he didn’t try enough and this is his punishment, having to take care of an idiot.  
  
“Wataru, please…”  
  
And his name slips so easily, between his lips, that he stops everything he was doing until that moment, and suddenly he’s glad that Wataru’s eyes are still closed.  
  
He’s in a mess, and the problem is that he puts himself into it without anyone’s help. And, as if his own mind wasn’t already giving him enough problems, Wataru moves under the blanket, turning towards him and slowly opening his eyes.  
  
“I made a dream,” and his voice is still drowsy, but Tomoya can clearly hear a note of happiness hanging there, “and you called me by my name…”  
  
“Thank God it was just a dream,” he answers, his voice too fast and too high to hide any embarrassment. But Wataru is still smiling, as he turns towards him and closes his eyes again. “No. No no no, Hibiki-san, you must help me putting you to bed, you can’t stay on the floor, don’t fall back asleep.”  
  
Wataru takes his time to answer. Tomoya wonders how that man is able to have the strength to joke even he’s sick - because he knows Wataru is awake, he knows because those lips seem unable to stop smiling.  
  
And that smile makes Tomoya want to take those blankets and throw them away.  
  
“Give me one second,” Wataru finally says, trying to sit on his own and miserably failing. Tomoya’s hand runs behind that shaky back, moving in circles to soothe him a bit. “Aah, I feel wasted.”  
  
“I should call off and stay with you today…”  
  
“But your work-”  
  
“It’s okay, I can get covered. I wouldn’t be at ease knowing you’re so idiot to let someone sleep on your bed when you’re sick. It’s your fault, so just shut up and let me help.”  
  
He can’t see Wataru’s smile, when he bends to offer his shoulders as a support to help him getting on his feet, but he can feel it, brushing his neck and making his spine shiver. A few weeks ago he would have been glad to know that Wataru wouldn’t be able to pester him each time he put a foot outside his house - his defenses would have been higher, he could still protect himself from his own feelings. But now he feels so vulnerable, as he puts Wataru in bed and covers him up to his nose, that he hasn’t even the strength to run away.  
  
He doesn’t want to.  
  
“Now sleep. Try not to give me a hard time and rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”  
  
And he doesn’t know if Wataru heard him, but Tomoya can still feel his warm lingering on his body.

The doorbell rings, when the clock strikes eleven and the sun is already high, even if hidden behind a thick cloud bank. He goes to the door, knowing already who he will find behind it, a familiar face covered in a surgical mask.  
  
“Oh, Tomoya-kun. What a surprise to find you here.”  
  
“I can’t really say the same, Tenshouin-san.”  
  
Eichi is not alone, though: the person behind him is probably the doctor he promised to send the day before - but why is _he_ here as well?  
  
“Please,” he says, as he steps aside the door and makes the two enter Wataru’s house. “Hibiki-san is still sleeping. I gave him some drugs to make his fever lower, but I don’t think it helped that much...”  
  
“Don’t worry, Tomoya-kun. Let the doctor visit him and come with me, I’ll make you some tea.”

  
  


Eichi Tenshouin is a strange man, but Tomoya can at least assure that he’s not a bad one. Nobody can brew such a good tea and be bad at the same time. Still, Tomoya can’t really like him - or better, he doesn’t feel the urge to get friendly with him, when he is still wondering what kind of relationship he and Wataru have.  
  
Hajime would laugh at him, probably, but he really feels like he wants to cry, now.  
  
“I bet he made you sleep on his bed.”  
  
Eichi Tenshouin is not a bad man, but he probably is a mind reader, a magician - he mustn’t be mentally sane, if he tags along with Wataru, but he didn’t think he could really figure out every single thing that happens in this house. Tomoya coughs, lowering his eyes on the tea cup.  
  
“He did,” he admits, as shame covers his ears in red.  
  
“See? He’s the perfect picture of an idiot,” and Eichi laughs, crossing his legs as he takes a sip of his tea. “But it comforts me, that he was able to do such a stupid thing. It means he’s not that sick, after all.”  
  
Tomoya hates the feeling that’s growing on his heart, that annoying tension that makes him uncomfortable, jealous - and it’s so hard to admit, oh, it’s so hard, but it appears to be the truth, so the faster he admits hit, the better. He doesn’t hate Eichi Tenshouin, no.  
  
It’s himself, the one he hates the most at the moment.  
  
“He will recover in a few days. Unlike me, Wataru is in good health, that’s just his idiocy giving him what he deserves.”  
  
“Cruel, but true.” He would laugh, if he wasn’t that nervous. “You’re… not in good health, Tenshouin-san?”  
  
Eichi’s soft laugh is sad, bitter. He puts the empty cup on the table, and he cleans his mouth before speaking again. “Please, stop calling me Tenshouin-san, you make me feel older than I actually am. And yes, my health isn’t good at all, but I can’t fret too much about it. I hate feeling an invalid because of my condition, so I try to live as much as I can. And Wataru helped me doing it for long. That’s why I care about him so much.” His eyes lock with Tomoya’s, and he can’t help feeling a shiver shaking is back, when Eichi speaks again. “That’s why I’m willing to do _anything_ I can to help him.”  
  
Eichi Tenshouin is a strange man, and he might not be a bad one, but sure is that his determination scares Tomoya way too much.

He doesn’t know where he finds the courage to say what he is gonna say now that Eichi is taking his leave, but he does it anyway, and he wishes the Phantom Thief knew - maybe he’d stop calling him Rabbit, after this.  
  
“Eichi-san,” and he really tries not to feel bad, calling him by his name - he can’t drop the honorifics yet but, judging by Eichi’s smile, he guess it’s okay like that for now. “You don’t need to come here every day. I can… take care of him.”  
  
He hopes he doesn’t sound too harsh, even if he’s being guided by an irrational jealousy that’s eating his heart not so slowly. But Eichi chuckles, being his mask, and bends before him in sign of… gratitude?  
  
Tomoya doesn’t know.  
  
“I’m glad to hear that.”  
  
Everyone seems to be able to read him to the core, but he can’t do the same with anyone. He doesn’t know why Eichi is smiling, when he turns his back and leaves the apartment, he doesn’t know why he feels like someone has just thrown him in a toilet and took the flush.  
  
He can’t read anyone.  
  
Even himself.

  



	3. Act 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand well, I don't know what to say if not "i hope you won't die at the end of this chapter because I did while I was writing it"  
> Joking, I just hope you'll enjoy it as much as you did with the other ones and see you next time for the last update - which will be a bit longer than the previous chapters! (also as always i really hope that it's not hard to read since english is my personal nightmare) ♥  
> Thanks again for your kind words and for your countless deaths, I cherish your souls with all my heart.
> 
> Also RIP tomoya  
> Also 2: [You know where to find me](http://twitter.com/mofumanju)

He’s glad that the rest of the week goes as smooth as honey, without any random call from his office and freak Thieves running around to find something to steal, something to have fun with. Tomoya thinks that maybe the Thief knows about his life, somehow, that he spies on him on a regular basis and decides when to act to leave him peace when he needs him, and make his life a living hell when Tomoya has plenty of time to waste thinking about his dreary life.

Eichi was right about Wataru, after all: it took him just three days to get rid of the cold - if Tomoya pretends that his neighbour’s silly acting as a child was part of a delirium provoked by fever and not an intended behaviour he put on just to be spoiled by him - and now he looks as if he was reborn from his own ashes, like a phoenix.

A giant, annoying, noisy phoenix.

Wataru laughs and smiles, as he waves at him from his balcony and smiles like the brightest star, their usual routine before the cold stroke him. And it hurts him - _physically_. 

He got up with a fastidious pain pulsing over his right eye, and taking a painkiller didn't help at all. Now that he’s going to work, he wishes he could call off and stay home, but he has already wasted too much time during the weekend, playing the role of Wataru’s nurse when the other one wasn't able to even make a sensate speech.

And now, Tomoya feels like he is the one in need of some special attention, because each step he takes is a stab in the head, and he’s not sure he'll be able to stand Kunugi’s voice judging him because of his little “holiday” - a hell of a holiday to be honest, Tomoya would have gladly gone to work if someone had been mad enough to take care of his annoying neighbour in place of him - or Mitsuru’s high voice asking him repeatedly how he is doing.

His only hope in that place are Nazuna and Hajime.

Of course, Fate hasn't a soft spot for him.

The weather is still uncertain, December coming faster than he thought. He can feel winter already in the air, in the core of his bones. The scarf he is wearing eats half on his face, which is the only part of his body that feels hot, at the moment. And to be honest, he doesn't like those shivers shaking his body mercilessly. How is he supposed to survive the day when he’s already this _tired_ and it’s not even nine in the morning?

He rubs his head, breathing hard, as he waits for his coffee in front of the coffee machine. Coffee helps to stand migraines, someone said once, and he really wants to trust that statement, but he’s afraid it will only worsen his condition. Still, he feels blessed, when the hot drink slips through his throat, sore and itchy since he woke up.

He really hopes he hasn't caught anything for Wataru, or this time he’ll be sure to make him pay for it.

 

At the end of the day, Tomoya is sure that something is not right with his body. He feels dizzy - sometimes he sees things moving on their own, or he feels the floor dancing under his feet, and he is pretty sure that none of the both is provided with willpower, so the problem must reside inside him - and, if it wasn't enough already, his nose itches like hell. Still, he must drag his feet home, if he wants to hide under the soft, warm blankets of his bed and sleep until the alarm clock will ring again the morning after - unless he calls a taxi, which is, like, one of the best ideas that have ever crossed his mind.

He’s not even hungry. Strange, because at this hour he usually wants to pig out. 

He’s tidying his desk, when Nazuna crosses the door of his office with the most apologetic look on his face. And Tomoya already knows that the day is not over yet.

“I’m so sorry, Tomoya-kun,” he whispers, as he hands out something Tomoya knows already too well. 

Maybe the Phantom Thief doesn't spy on him, after all.

 

He’s not ready for this, not tonight, not with his legs shaking like jelly and making him feel like a scared rabbit. He has coughed a few times, on his ride to the Thief’s target - a large mansion in the rich neighbourhood of the city, this time, something so eye-catching that Tomoya wonders, just for a second, if he really does want to be caught, this time. He feels nervous, more because of his health condition that for the umpteenth meeting with the Phantom Thief: he hates being so weak, especially in front of him. It’s so silly, giving priority to the Thief’s thoughts about him more than to his own health, but as silly as it might be, Tomoya feels so judged by those purple eyes that he doesn’t want to let him down - he doesn’t want to feel a failure again.

He turns the letter around his fingers, reading again the text on it. There’s something new, in this letter, something the Thief never bothered to add in the other ones. It’s a line written in an elegant blue, his handwriting drawing curls at the end of each word - if that sentence is a clue or a bait, he doesn’t know. 

_The truth is always found beyond the picture._

He has thought about the hidden meaning behind the sentence during the ride towards the house, but the headache pounding on his head since that morning didn’t help him at all - rather, Tomoya felt his condition worsen while he tried to figure out the probable riddle behind those words. 

He’s glad that the first man he meets once he arrives is Otogari, because the policeman instantly notices that something isn’t right with him. And Tomoya knows that it won’t be of any help, the fact that Adonis realised that he doesn’t feel good _at all_ , but at least it’s a solace, to know that someone still notices him, and cares for him. 

“You don’t look good.”

“I’m not,” he sighs, taking the policeman’s report on his hand and reading it. 

Would the Thief get offended, if he gave up for today? Because really, he feels like the only thing that he could now is to wave his hand at him and let him go with the spoils. After all, it looks like Tomoya is the only one that has accepted the fact that the Phantom Thief steals just from the houses of rich people that obtained those objects only God knows how, but surely not legally. But Kunugi’s words still ring in his ear, _a thief is a thief whatever he steals_ , and he can’t really go against his boss, so...

He’s sorry, though. Because since they first met, Tomoya has never felt any bad intention coming from that man - on the contrary, he has always admired his work, somehow. He doesn’t dare to share his own opinion about the Phantom Thief with his co-workers, he doesn’t want to get fired or, worst, thought of as a supporter, and still he’s sure that the Thief doesn’t mean any harm. 

“Are you sure you want to get there alone?” Adonis asks, and Tomoya feels so grateful that it’s easier for him to bend his lips in a tired smile. He nods, but he can’t help asking himself if he’s not being a total idiot. 

“I am. He disappears in a cloud of dust if he sees anyone but me.”

“You’ve got yourself a fan, Mashiro-san.”

“Nah. He’s just a bore. Ah, Otogari-san,” he goes on, taking a look at the large palace in front of his eyes. “Any information about the possible target?”

“Mh. Himemiya-san made a list of all the valuable objects in the house. Apparently, a possible target might be a collection of paintings of the Momoyama period. It’s pretty precious since many of the author’s works are enlisted among the Japanese Treasures.” 

Tomoya nods, absent-minded. A painting, mh.

The truth beyond the picture.

“Thank you, Ootogami-san. Please take care of the surroundings, I’ll take a look inside.” 

“Sure. And, Mashiro-san?”

“Yes?”

“Are you really-”

“I’m fine. Thank you.” 

He leaves him with a smile that dies the instant he turns his back and starts to walk towards the doorway of the building. He should have let Adonis know that he has all the intentions to let the Thief go, tonight, because if he thinks about fighting with him, the only thing he can do is laughing at himself. He can’t stop him, whatever he decides to do. He never can when he feels at his top, how is he supposed to stop him when he can barely walk on his feet? If nothing, at least the inside of the house is silent and calm, warm. He appreciates it.

“I don’t want to play,” he says, voice high and a bit hoarse, the result of hours trying to suffocate his coughs - if he doesn’t let them go then they don’t exist, right? Nobody answers, of course, so he takes a few steps further and looks around, feeling nauseous. 

He hates rich people’s houses. They’re unnecessarily big, unnecessarily stuffed with items of value that just work as an embellishment, which value is really just monetary, and not sentimental. He hates them because when someone wants to get in and steal something, Tomoya is the one to get his hand in dirt to find them and assure them to justice, and if the house was smaller, then he wouldn’t lose so much time looking for the room where the target is - in this particular moment, the stupid collection of paintings. Of course he can snoop around wherever he likes; the problem, in this very moment, is that he doesn’t want to. 

He just want to see the Phantom Thief, tell him he could choose a better day to show himself and let him leave. But he can’t, apparently, so all he can do is keep wandering and hope to find the room soon. Thank to himself, more than to God, he has learnt where to look. He doesn’t know if there is any particular reason or it’s just the simple mind of wealthy people to lead them to hide their precious antiques and relics on the highest floor of their houses, but every single object stolen by the Thief was always stored into a room in the second or third floor. That’s why Tomoya ignores the ground floor and goes straight to the stairs, hurrying his steps because well, the soon he finishes the job, the sooner he will get home. 

Some lights turns off, when his feet touch the second floor. His heart skips a beat, and he’s not sure if it’s because out of surprise or because his body feels funny already without these silly jokes. He follows the light, while behind him the hallway falls into darkness.

He stops for a moment, leaning on the wall and holding his head as the world starts to spin around him for a few seconds that worsen his nausea. He would cry, if he wasn’t at work. He would give up that very moment and fall to his knees. He never felt so bad - and if he did, at least he could feel bad under a warm shield made of blankets. Now, alone in that house too big for him, he feels as if he is going to pass out, and at the same time feels the urge to keep moving. Tomoya hates himself at times, hates his devotion towards his work - hates the little spark of hope the Phantom Thief ignited on him when they first met, and he whispered to his ear _you’re the only one I’ll allow to come near me_.

He seriously thought, at that moment, that he could be _someone_ too. That he could escape a life made of emptiness and mediocrity, and be the shiny star on the stage just for once in his whole life. He would be happy with that, he would be happy to be reminded as the one who caught the interest of the most popular thief of the last ten, twenty, fifty years, the new Arsenio Lupin - but more like a renew version of Robin Hood for him. He still wonders why, though. 

The question haunts him even when he doesn’t think about it. Why does it look like he attracts the interest of the weirdest ones? Why is his life divided between a masked freak and a freak actor obsessed with masks? Is it the mask, the real problem? Maybe the kanji on his name might mean _mask_ , if read with another way. Though, if that was the case, then it would probably be read as _bait_ or _victim_ , or even better, _twist of fate_. Because Fate is being cruel with him, giving him the chance to escape his average life every time he and the Thief cross their paths, and taking it away the moment he’s allowed to brush the outline of that black cape. 

He will never escape his fate, won’t he. He’ll always be Tomoya Mashiro, the man which prominent characteristic is to be plain boring. He feels a knot on his throat, and he repeats to himself that he can’t give up now, he can’t pour out now of all moments. He must endure, he must bite the bullet and keep going, so he lets his head go and opens his eyes again, the world that meanwhile stopped spinning like crazy. He breathes, slowly, counts until three, writes the ideogram for _person_ on the palm of his hand three times and eats it, as Hajime told him to do when he was feeling particularly anxious. 

It doesn’t really help

He starts to walk again, following the main hallway and looking around, as he noses around the rooms he finds to see if he can find any clue, anything that might help him to identify the Thief’s target. 

He should have asked before putting a foot on the house, but it’s too late now. He would never leave the building and risk to throw all the efforts he made until now out of the window.

_The truth is always found beyond the picture._

Is that really a clue, is it a riddle? Which truth can be found in a painting older than four hundred years? Maybe he is reading too much between the lines, and that’s just another way the Thief has found to play with him. He wouldn’t be surprised, after all. 

Thank God, this time he doesn’t have to open all the doors of the floor before he finds the room he is looking for. He wonders why rich people have this tendency to put the most precious object in a room that might fit in a museum: there are spotlights everywhere, all oriented towards the three paintings decorating the wall. And honestly, Tomoya hates every single one of them. He takes a step back, closing the door to lean on it to take his time, as he rubs his temples to find a bit of relief. 

“You can do it big boy,” he whispers to himself, filling his lungs with air and squinting his eyes, before he opens the door again and steps into the room. Once his sight adjusts to the light, understanding why those paintings are so precious is pretty easy: they shine. Like, literally. Tomoya can distinguish the gold used to embellish the canvas, because it shines like clear water under the summer sun. He guesses that’s what makes them so precious, together with the name of the author embossed in the right corner of each panel. More than three unique paintings, they look like different parts of the same picture, some of them being missed who knows where. He gets nearer, looking at the delicate trait of the artist, looking at the whole more than at the single pieces. 

_The truth is always found beyond the picture._

“What the hell does it mean,” he burst, rubbing his head where the pain is stronger, feeling lile his brain is refusing to work. On the other hand, shouldn’t the Thief be with him by now? Maybe this is not his real target, maybe he’s aiming at something bigger, maybe he’s not even there.

Maybe he has tricked him. 

No, impossible. It would be the first time and it wouldn’t make sense, anyway. Tomoya feels tired and he can clearly feel his headache worsening, but he knows that if he wants to meet the thief he has to understand what the hell he meant by that sentence. 

“The truth is always found beyond the picture,” he says out loud, as his eyes wander on the three panels and his brain tries to elaborate even the simplest thought. He looks at the figures on the canvas, he looks at the sun on his left side, at the sun drawn in gold and beautiful ladies enjoying themselves on the bank of a river, under the sweet shadow of a cherry tree. The second panel is filled with cherry petals and the clear water, so clear that carps are visible under the surface of the water, white and orange. The colours, so rich in the first two panels, are so shiny, so bright, that the third panel is a blessing to Tomoya’s eyes: the dominant colour is a dark brown, a thick shadow cast over the body of a child playing with her dolls, twisting the head of a _kokeshi_ with her face wet with tears. 

He can almost hear the cry of that child ringing in his ears. “The truth beyond the…” 

The room falls into silence for a minute, two, a whole hour, he doesn’t know. But when he hears that crying again, Tomoya feels the goosebumps. He turns towards the door he left open, feeling his heart jumping on his chest. He recalls reading somewhere that during the Edo period, _Naruko kokeshi_ ’s heads could be twisted to recreate a squeaking sound very similar to a child crying. The sounds seem to come from the other side of the hallway, which meanwhile has fallen in absolute darkness. 

Is the Thief on the other side of the picture?

The crying resounds in the hallway, soft and feeble - Tomoya wonders how he is even able to hear it, since most of his senses are too focused on keeping himself on his feet. 

The truth beyond the picture. It doesn’t make any sense for him. But he follows the sound anyway, and for a moment he feels like he has been thrown into a horror movie. Because really, that squeak is terrifying.

He steps outside the paintings room, leaving it behind, leaving behind the light. He takes it as a gift for his body, the embrace of darkness, a gentle hand on his eyes and making him half blind. His head pounds less now, at least. He stops before a white door, and waits. 

The crying starts again, louder, and for a moment Tomoya wonders if there’s someone else, behind that door, a real child closed inside that room for who knows how long. He breathes slowly, once, twice, three times before he finds the courage to open the door. 

There’s no child in there, obviously. Well, at least, not the child he expected to see. 

“You did it, at last,” a sing-song voice greets him, and the Phantom Thief’s braid, soft against his back, looks like a dream catcher, shining under the moonlight like it was adorned with diamonds. Tomoya doesn’t speak a word, doesn’t take a step, too much focused on the narrow space the Thief has closed himself inside. He can’t see very much, the room sunk in darkness, but he sees the shadow of the Thief’s arm moving, and it follows it with his eyes. 

As it moves, that crying fills his ears again, but it’s almost unbearable, now. 

“You’re stealing toys from children, now? I thought you were different,” he murmurs as the light of the moon enlights the face of the little doll held by the Thief’s hands. The man before him turns his face to look at him, his mask throwing a shadow that makes him look scary, the villain of a fairy tail, ready to eat Tomoya at his first breath. 

Tomoya feels uncomfortable. He hates it.

“You must have realised by now that I choose my targets with reason, Little Rabbit. No need to offend me like that, I’m just doing my job.”

He clinches his fists on his sides, trying to think, think, think. There’s just a little skylight on the room, and the space is so narrow that really, how is he supposed to escape this time? He gets distracted by his own coughing, and he doesn’t know if he’s hearing things, but he’s pretty sure that the Thief gulped in surprise.

But he doesn’t ask, and Tomoya is grateful. 

“You can’t escape, this time. You put yourself into a trap.”

“You look sure of yourself, Little Rabbit. I like it. But you know, a magician never reveals his tricks to the audience.” 

His smile, under the moonlight, looks _scary_. Tomoya rubs his eyes and tries to put the outline in front of him on focus, but it’s so hard, too difficult for him right now. 

Oh God, he feels like he’s going to pass out soon.

“Let’s make this quick, please,” and his voice sounds like a plea, and he doesn’t like it at all, because that means showing the Phantom Thief a weakness he shouldn’t have, and that he can’t fight back. “You can’t run away. You just can’t.”

The Thief is whistling, as he turns again towards the Kokeshi dolls on the floor and picks them up one by one, putting them in a box. His gestures are so slow, careful, as if he was holding something fragile, too precious to be just scratched, or just got dusty. After he closes the box he gets up, cleaning his back from the dust on the floor. That room must have been closed for long, unvisited and, consequently, abandoned. 

Tomoya wonders why.

He loses himself in his thoughts just for a moment, and when he comes back to reality the Phantom Thief is before him, too close for Tomoya not to taste the man’s scent on the tip of his tongue. 

This is bad. 

“Will you let me pass?” he asks, his voice mellifluous, sweet to his ears, in contrast with the dim light darkening his face. Tomoya has never seen the Phantom’s face in the clear light, and it doesn’t matter how many times they have met, it doesn’t matter how many times they’ve been so close. He never remembers the little he sees of his face. There’s just the clouded memory of his mask, and nothing more.

“No,” and his answer is terse, maybe a bit too much, but he can’t risk to sound uncertain - he’s already trying too much to stay on his feet as he raises his face to look at him in the eyes. If he shows himself weak, the Phantom Thief will take advantage of him - and at the moment, he really looks like a hungry beast. Another shiver shakes him, and he doesn’t know if it’s fear, or something else.

He finds out soon that he doesn’t want to know.

“Little Rabbit,” he whispers, raising a hand towards him. Tomoya stares at it as it gets closer, and he stiffens as it brushes his left cheek, smooth silk against his skin. The Thief’s touch lingers for a moment, as if the man was distracted by something - or more like he noticed something he didn’t realise before, and when he pulls it back his smile widens, and so the shadow on his face. “It’s time to run.” 

Tomoya hasn’t time to figure out what he means by those words, because the very next moment he feels the ground shaking under his feet to a loud explosion. 

He can’t believe it. He steps outside the room, looking towards the end of the hallway where the lights are still turned on, but he doesn’t see any smoke, any sign of that explosion that shook the floor. “What the hell did you-” and he doesn’t even finish the sentence, because when he turns it’s already too late, the Thief is outside the room and waving a hand. 

“Your friends are coming, Little Rabbit. I’ll be better off.”

No. No, no no. He doesn’t want to see him run away without even trying, he doesn’t want to touch his cape again and feel his dream disappearing in a cloud of dust for the umpteeth time. His legs move on their own, reading his mind and following his desire, and he doesn’t mind if his head is spinning like a merry go round and he feels like throwing up, he can’t lose this chance. 

He’s tired of losing chances. 

“Stop!” and he surprises himself, when he hears his own voice so loud, that touch of despair that makes things more dramatic than they should. He starts to run as fast as he can, and for a moment - the only one in all his life, probably - he wishes he really was a rabbit, he wishes he was as fast. He wishes he remembered how to breathe - it would be so easier, if his nose was free and his throat wasn’t literally _burning_. He’s tired, he was tired the very moment he left his bed that morning, and still he must resist the urge to surrender and run run run, run until there’s no more air to fill his lungs with. That cape is so far and near at the same time that he tries to reach it, and he doesn’t care if the Thief is running upstairs and his legs are begging him to stop, he just keep going. He can hear the voices of his colleagues filling the hallway they have just left behind, and his heart is going to jump out of his chest when he reaches the next floor, and the Thief has disappeared before his eyes. 

And then, he feels something pulling him from the collar of his coat into a room, and the next moment his back is against a door, and everything around him lacks of colour.

He can feel soft silk pressing against his mouth, and a soft _shush_ coming from that body that presses him against the door, that brushes his face with warm. The light is so scarce that he can barely recognise the Thief’s outline, the hat fallen who knows where on the floor. He’s so near that Tomoya can feel locks of hair caressing his skin, but he’s so out of air right now that the only thought on his mind is to survive. 

His eyes are adjusting to the dark, and in that very moment, as the voices of his colleagues are invading the hallway behind that door, he can distinguish the Thief’s eyes, his nose, the gentle curve of his lips. He’s panting too, and the thought that he’s not that perfect, after all, that he’s a human too, makes him smile for a moment. His throat hurts too much tough, and so his lungs as he tries to fill them, but the air escapes too fast, and he can’t catch it. 

He doesn’t know why his hands raise from the floor and look for the Thief’s arms - he feels a bit scared, to be honest, because now that he’s not running anymore, now that he’s slowly catching his breath, he’s becoming aware of the almost non existing distance between them - and now, now that they are so close, the Phantom Thief’s scent isn’t just a delicate brush on his nose, no.

It’s invading him. 

He swallows hard, lowering his eyes where the Thief’s lips are, parted and wet in the soft light of a Moon hidden behind the clouds. He doesn’t know if it’s his own body to be that warm, or if it’s the Thief who’s releasing heat. In any case, he finds himself liking it more than he should. He should feel in danger, but his head is so light, right now, so free of any kind of thoughts, that he doesn’t realise that the voices of the policemen outside have been replaced by the drumming of his blood running like crazy in his veins. The grip around the Thief’s arms tighten, in a blunt tentative to hold him closer and deny him any chance to run away. He doesn’t want to see him disappear another time, he doesn’t want to hit the bottom of the barrel and blame himself again for his own, sad, talentless life. 

He doesn’t want to be left alone again. 

And he keeps staring at those lips, his face so hot that ice would melt in an instant if it touched his skin, and then, a whisper cuts the air in two. 

“Fuck.” 

And Tomoya doesn’t know what it is, that soft thing brushing his lips, gentle and warm, almost fearful. He holds his breath, closing his eyes, and when the air escapes his lungs he trembles, as he slowly realises what is happening. Another touch follows, more certain, his lower lip caught between the Thief’s ones, the soft wet noise of the kiss breaking the silence and making him swallow hard again. Tomoya doesn’t realise he’s answering to that kiss until he feels himself moaning softly, when the Thief’s tongue gently asks to enter his mouth with soft touches on his lips. 

And damn it all, he lets him.

He’s running out of air again when the kiss deepens, when he feels the Thief’s hands on his shoulders and his hot breath warming his face, sliding on his throat as Tomoya tries to remember how to breathe. He tastes good, Tomoya doesn’t grasp of what, but it’s okay because he can still smell that scent that curls his stomach each time his nose is blessed with it - and it tastes so familiar, he knows it, but at the moment he can’t remember where he did feel surrounded by it, too lost in a kiss that’s deepening more. He can’t help sighing in those brief moments where his mouth is free, short moments in which the Thief bites his lips gently, and licks them, kiss them, suck them and oh, that sweet twist that melts him from the inside. Tomoya knows he should push him away and run, run as fast as he can, run far from him and from the sweet taste of his lips and the warmth of his mouth, because if he stays there he’ll feel lost, because it feels wrong, because it-

Because it shouldn’t be _him_. But he can’t resist that touch, he can’t resist the thought of being, well, maybe not love, but at least desired, he can’t resist that sweet poison that invades him and doesn’t leave him any way out. His hands reach the Thief’s shoulders, his neck, his cheeks and well, maybe he’s just dreaming, maybe this is just the fever burning his brain and misleading him into an alluring dream where the Thief’s outline overlaps with Wataru’s, where it’s okay to kiss his archenemy as long as it’s not the man he’s running from since they met the first time because he’s too scared to admit that he fucking likes him.

He loves him, probably.

He’s feeling dizzy again, and when they part he doesn’t care about breathing anymore, he doesn’t care about the dolls being stolen, he doesn’t care about the policemen running around the house and looking for a bomb that, now he has understood, doesn’t even exist. He lets his hands slip on the Thief’s shoulders, while his whole bust bends towards the man’s chest - how funny it is, hearing another heart beating like crazy, just like his own one. The touch of the Phantom Thief’s hand on his head is so familiar, so caring that even if he knows he should feel in danger, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, at the moment. He closes his eyes, wondering if he can rest his eyes a bit, just for a minute, really, before he starts to run behind his doomed fate made of mediocrity and unrequited love.

“Little Rabbit?” 

The Thief’s voice is so sweet against his ear, a candy to suck and let it melt on his tongue. He tries to answer back, but the only thing he can let out of his mouth is a soft moan, because really, he’s too tired to formulate something better. A pair of hands shake him a bit, in a blunt attempt to make him come back to his senses, but the world is already turning black around him - well, he doesn’t need that much when the room is already filled with darkness. 

He just want to rest, and forget about the world outside that tiny room. 

He raises his head a bit, but he ends pressing his nose against the Thief’s chest, as his arms fall without any life against the floor. His eyelids are so heavy that he can’t avoid them to close on their own, but he doesn’t mind, as long as he’s there, as long as the doesn’t have to face anybody else. 

“I’m so sorry, Tomoya-kun.”

 

The cold breeze of December is ruffling his hair, when he finds that grain of strength that allows him to open his eyes for a moment. He feels so near to the full Moon in front of him, to the sweet light that bathes him, bathes the man before him, who’s resting his arms against… against what, he wonders.

He feels like he’s flying, moon and stars so near that he could reach them if he just raised his arm. Maybe the Thief has really kidnapped him, and now he’s carrying him away on his giant, silly balloon. Maybe he’s dreaming and, to be honest...

It’s a nice dream, after all.


	4. Final Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahah. Ahah.   
> Ah.   
> Omg. Last chapter and all this magic will end here, today, and I feel a bit sad, because honestly, it was so long since I had this fun writing something and... I really cherish this fic. And I'd be so happy, so glad, if I was able to convey the same feeling at least a little bit. I get sentimental too easily over things that makes me happy, and you all made me happy, so happy, that you have no idea. I hope you enjoyed the journey. I really did.  
> Thank you. For reading, for putting up with my strange and silly English, for leaving a feedback, for the livetweets, for everything. Really. Aaah, I'm sorry, I'll stop it now. 
> 
> ... thank you *hugs you all* ｡：ﾟ(｡ﾉω＼｡)ﾟ･｡

His head is so heavy that Tomoya thinks it might fall from the rest of his body in a matter of time, no shit. As he tries to open his eyes, his stomach twists in a strange way, making him want to throw up. Mission aborted. A hand rests on his belly, while the other arm goes to cover his eyes with a feeble hope to soothe his headache, as he takes deep breaths and tries to put the nausea at rest.

He doesn’t know where he is, but he’s just too tired to worry about that right now. And it’s funny, how that simple thought puts his mind at work, and his brain starts to project scenes from the night before without any mercy for his pounding head. 

He really doesn’t want to remember. And the sigh escaping his lips is eloquent enough to express his exhaustion. 

Did he really pass out? There’s a giant hole on his memories between the rumble of the fake explosion and _this_ , but even if he racks his brain he can’t really remember what he did, if his co-workers know where he is, if-

Wait. 

There’s something struggling to come to the surface of his mind, the memory of the light of a full moon brushing his cheek, of a cold breeze tickling his nose. And suddenly, he feels panic running on his veins instead of blood, as his heart starts to beat as fast as a rabbit’s.

He opens his eyes, finally, because the idea to be on the Evil’s nest makes him shiver more than the fever he’s probably running right now, and he doesn’t care the headache that’s imposing over him, he must run away he must run run run-

“Tomoya-kun, are you awake?”

He sits too fast on the bed, and the world around him turns to black for a second. He brings a hand to his mouth just to be sure not to throw up on the sheets, but it’s so hard when his mind is having a breakdown and he doesn’t know where he is. He recognises the voice too - at least, he thinks he does, because for a moment it really feels like the Thief’s one and oh God, oh God-

“Tomoya-kun.”

The world regains its colour, and Tomoya has never been happier to see Wataru’s worried face at a inch from his nose. He should get a hold on himself, try to control that silly urge for crying in relief, but he can’t, not now, not when Wataru is holding his shoulders and looking at him like he was the most precious human being in the whole world. 

“You’re safe, Tomoya-kun.” 

It’s so not like him, to search for Wataru’s warmth, to bend towards his chest to find support as the knot on his throat melts, and the first sobs come out from his mouth together with relief. He feels drained of all his strength, and the idea of being into Wataru’s room of all places makes him feel well, makes him feel safe. 

It’s the first time he feels protected next to that man. 

Wataru’s hand is gentle, as he brushes Tomoya’s hair and presses his lips on his forehead, whispering words to comfort him. And Tomoya hates himself, remembering the Thief’s lips on his own, the taste of his tongue invading his mouth like a poison he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get rid off. He feels so bad, he feels a traitor, and he doesn’t even know why, because as the memory of that kiss wholly surfaces on his mind the guilt hugs his heart and bites it, hurting him, making his sobbing violent. 

He loves him.

And it’s so hard to admit it, it’s so hard that he bites his cheek to hold himself from screaming in frustration - still, his hands are moving again on their own, clinging to Wataru’s chest as he wets it with his tears. 

“It’s all fine, Tomoya-kun, it’s fine now,” and Tomoya really wants to believe his words, because at the moment everything is a mess in his head, in his heart, and he doesn’t know how to sort it out. He wants to forget about the kiss, he wants to get rid off that feeling that’s embracing his stomach and makes him feel weird, desperate. Why, of all people, did he have to fall in love with this idiot? Why did he have to fall for someone that clearly gets pleasure from teasing him for every, single, stupid thing?

Why him, of all people. He holds tight to his shirt, squeezing his eyes as they burn because of all the tears he’s crying out, and he’s so tempted to say something, to tell him to fuck himself and leave him alone, and at the same time to beg him to stay with him and never let him go.

He doesn’t speak a word, though. He just can’t.

“You should rest.”

Wataru is right, Tomoya knows it. But he’s so scared to lay on the bed and close his eyes, and he doesn’t even know why; he’s being irrational, poor, silly Tomoya. But he lets Wataru push him down, with a care and kindness that makes him feel even worse. 

“Hibiki-san,” he starts, without even really knowing what to say, “your masks…”

“What, Tomoya-kun?”

“The thief, he really likes masks so please, don’t let him take them away-”

It’s so strange to hear his own voice blabbering nonsense, and still Wataru doesn’t laugh at him, he doesn’t tease him like he would do if he wasn’t feeling that bad, almost delirious. He still feels in a sweat but at least he’s not sobbing anymore - he can breathe almost normally, now, while he puts his head on the pillow and feels his head smashing in two. 

“I will, promise. Now sleep. I’ll make you something to eat when you wake up, okay?”

He nods, closing his eyes and letting himself slip into darkness.

 

He refuses to open his eyes. He really does, he won’t, he’ll pretend he just died.

What if it was all a dream, after all? Fever plays horrible tricks to his mind, it has always had. But this time, the dream was so vivid, too real to deny its existence. He could still try to, he can pretend things didn’t happen, but he’s sure that _someone_ would pull him to his feet and drag him back to reality.

And, honestly. This reality sucks way too much. 

Why can’t he stay there, closed in a ball of warm and darkness, protected by his eyelids and by a bunch of blankets pressing against his body? Seriously, it’s better than anything else: no freak thieves to chase, no freak neighbours to bear with, nothing to care about. He might even sacrifice food and die of starvation, until he’s granted his wish to forget the truth, and be forgotten by the rest of the world. 

Sadly, he can’t stay like that forever. Keeping his eyes closed when he’s wide awake is just counter-productive, since his head keeps spinning and he feels like he was on board of a wrecked ship at the mercy of an angry sea. He must be brave and face a reality where he’s in Wataru’s bed for the second time in a week, and… and…

He must face a reality where he’s in love with Wataru.

Which sudden realisation makes things even worse than they already are. He holds his stomach as he opens his eyes, feeling it twist as his memories run back to the night before - at least he thinks it is, because he’s not sure about how long he slept for: the warmth of the Thief’s lips is still lingering on his own, and no matter how blurry his memory is, he remembers way too well the nice feeling that invaded his whole body the moment he intruded his mouth. 

And he feels guilty.

Tomoya presses his hands over his eyes, whispering a series of _why, why, why_ as he tries to figure out what to do - he doesn’t know if he should tell Wataru what happened, but then his neighbour would probably ask him why he is telling all that stuff and what should he be supposed to answer, then? 

He’s not ready to talk with Wataru about his sudden epiphany, and he probably won’t be for the next two centuries. Also, he wishes he had the strength to get out of his house, to sneak out of the apartment to get to his own home, to his own bed and possibly search for a new accommodation. If he moves to Australia, Wataru won’t get him. 

… if he moved to Australia, he would probably be the one to come back in a few days because he would miss him. And the worst thing is that he doesn’t have to even admit that to himself. He just knows it.

As if he was called by his own thoughts, the door of Wataru’s room opens to let its legit owner enter in, the nice, fruity scent of hot tea invading his nostrils in no time. Tomoya lets his hands run down his face, before he opens his eyes and turns his face towards his host. 

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks, and Tomoya appreciates that Wataru’s voice is low, soft, and not too high how it usually is. Wataru gets on his knees, placing the cup of tea on the night stand beside the bed to help him sitting. Tomoya nods, slowly as to test his own state - and he’s glad that his head is starting to spin less, now. 

“Better,” he says, voice harsh and nasal. “I just feel a bit knocked out.”

“I bet you did, you were out for almost a whole day. You scared me a bit, you know? You were running a high fever, I should have noticed before…”

Tomoya lowers his head, just not to be caught as he tries to cast a sidelong glance at Wataru’s face - he doesn’t really get why he looks so worried, so _guilty_ , but since it’s Wataru he’s talking about… he’s still thinking about that sad look on the other’s face when the meaning behind that sentence strikes him like a punch on his guts.

“A day? Oh my god, I have to call at work and-”

“Ah, don’t worry. I’ve already set everything for you. You should just think about resting, for now.”

And he nods, as Wataru gives him the cup of tea. The feeling of warmth spreading from his hands and through his body is a blessing, the thing he needed the most at the moment, since his stomach is starting to hurt a bit - because of anxiety, probably.

“I don’t remember what happened,” he says, looking at his own, distorted reflection in the surface of his tea, the orange stretch of water giving him back a worried frown. Wataru makes himself comfortable on the floor, his back against the bed, so that Tomoya can’t see his face. 

“I had rehearsal on a theatre in the rich neighbourhood yesterday night, and while I was driving back home I saw the lights of the police cars. When I got there, I met a cute girl with blue hair. She was sick worried, I really thought she was about to faint, and when I told her I would have brought you home she thanked me like, a thousand times. Cute girl she was, her name was… Hajime, if I remember well? Or something like that, by the way.”

“He’s not a girl,” he says, a cough coming to his help as he tries to hide a laugh - he doesn’t know how he manages not to spit his tea on Wataru’s hair, he deserves a prize for his willpower, damn it. “And woah. I can’t really remember a thing… I should give him a-”

“Ahh, don’t worry about that. He just warned me you would have fretted about letting him know that you were fine, so he told me to tell you to rest. So, rest, if you don’t want to make Hajime-chan worry.”

He nods, frowning a bit. “What about… the Phantom Thief?”

“He run away. I’ve seen his balloon, by the way. It’s huge. Fancy. When you get him, please ask him if I can have it, I really liked it. Let me say that your friend has a nice taste.”

“He’s not my friend?” and oh, _damn_ , of course he’s not a friend, but he wonders what _he_ is for the Phantom Thief. He blushes, lowering his head again, and he’s glad he can blame the fever for the colour spreading on his cheeks and down his neck. He sighs, bringing the teacup to his lips and taking a sip, hot stream warming his throat and making it feel less sore. 

“Ahah, I’m sorry, I was just joking around. Do you feel like eating something? Just ask this Mad Hatter and he will grant any wish you have.” 

And as Wataru turns his face towards him, Tomoya sees something new, a glimpse of sadness on his eyes that makes his stomach curls in a different way from the feeling the Phantom Thief gave him. It’s worrisome. 

“Mh. I’m hungry,” he nods, and those words are enough to make Wataru jump on his feet like a spring - is it an act, after all, is that smile a mask itself, and Wataru forgot to wear it just for a second?

He wants to know, but he dares not to ask. 

 

He never leaves Wataru’s apartment, neither to collect a change of clothes - each time Wataru offers to take the keys of his house and take what he needs for him, sometimes disappearing for at least a hour and coming back with a red face and a sweaty forehead. Tomoya finds out that that hour was spent cleaning his house to shine like a mirror and watering his plants three days later, when his legs allow him to get up from bed without the risk to fall on his neighbour’s hands, and the fever finally reduces. 

He’s a bit sad, but he’ll never say it outloud. He liked being spoiled by Wataru, he liked to fake to be asleep just to hear that voice singing softly a lullaby, to feel his hand brushing his hair. He still feels terrible, guilt lingering on his heart as if he had killed a lamb, more than kissed a man he shouldn’t have kissed. And that’s why, when he finally leaves Wataru’s apartment to take those ten steps that divide it from his own accommodation, he’s more resolute than he has ever been until that moment. 

He must catch the Thief, next time. He definitely has to. And Tomoya will give his all to grasp those arms and capture him once and for all, after a whole year of playing cat and mouse. He has felt a mocked cat for too long, and now he’s hungry. 

 

Hajime jumps at his neck the very moment Tomoya steps into his office, holding him so tight that for a moment Tomoya wonders if he was looking so desperate, when Wataru came to take him at the Himemiya mansion. He pats his head, his lips bending in a smile that he couldn’t hold anyway - he likes Hajime, he’s his very best friend inside and out of the agency, and maybe it’s Wataru’s fault for spoiling him so much, but he likes to receive a bit of love, once in awhile.

“I was so scared!” he cries, and Tomoya tries to get free of his hold, but it’s hard when the one hugging you looks like he doesn’t want to let you go. “I thought I wouldn’t have seen you anymore, I thought you were-”

“Calm down, Hajime-kun. I’m here.” And, Tomoya admits it, he doesn’t really get what Hajime is meaning - didn’t he see him when Wataru stopped to get him, by the way? 

“We looked for you everywhere, you don’t have any idea of how much I was relieved when you called and told us you were-”

“What?”

Hajime breaks the hug and looks at him, tilting his head a bit and looking worried. “You don’t remember? You called me…”

He wonders what kind of face he’s making, to see the look on Hajime’s eyes getting even worrier. Maybe he doesn’t remember well, it could be the case since he was delirious for more than a day but then why would Wataru change his version and tell him something different?

Why would he-

“... Tomoya-kun? Are you not feeling well? You’re pale.”

He shakes his head, trying to smile to his friend, trying to push away the not so subtle doubt that’s quickly invading his mind. 

“No, I’m fine. I’m sorry, my thoughts of that day aren’t really clear so… I guess I just forgot. But I’m sorry I made you worry, Hajime-kun. I’m fine now. Can you give me the report of the last case regarding the Phantom Thief? I need to check on something,” he asks, a gentle smile on his lips, and Hajime answers with a nod and excuses himself as he directs towards the archive. He looks at him as he disappears behind the door of his office, and when he sits on his beloved armchair the first thing he does is to massage the bridge of his nose and _breathe_.

Something is off. Something is definitely off, and he doesn’t know what - he doesn’t want to know. He thought it was silly, imagining the Thief and Wataru being the same person but now, knowing that he lied to him, what should he think? He might call him and ask for an explanation, but he’s sure that Wataru would just confirm what he has already told him and that wouldn’t change anything. But now, that thought intruded into his mind and he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. 

Maybe he wasn’t dreaming, when he felt like he was flying in the air. It’s so difficult, to recall every detail of that vague memory, but he remembers a narrow space and the moon shining in front of his nose like, _literally_ , and that hair, long, silver hair flying without control over…   
Over who, he wonders. 

It can’t be. It can’t be Wataru, of all people, he can’t be him. 

And yet.

Hajime comes back with the report on his hands, and when he gives it to him he just stands in front of his desk, a frown on his face and his lips wearing thin. 

“Thank you, Hajime-kun. You can-”

“You’re worried. What’s up?”

Ah, he hates that he hasn’t any of Wataru’s acting skills - while his neighbour is a master of concealment, apparently Tomoya is like an open book: he’s so easily readable. He sighs, leaning on the armchair and closing his eyes - he felt well, that morning, but now he just want to run away - again, for the umpteenth time in the last months. He doesn’t want to share his doubt - it’s just a doubt, after all - but he knows that Hajime won’t leave without a satisfying answer, so...

“How would you feel if someone you know, and... like, wasn’t who he told you to be?”

Hajime stares at him for a few seconds; maybe he’s wondering if Tomoya doesn’t need at least another day off, and he wouldn’t blame him because he’s thinking exactly the same thing now. 

“... I don’t know. Probably sad? Disappointed?” 

Mh. 

“It’s just that… You know, I really want to catch him, and know who hides behind that mask and-” and he taps his fingers over the Phantom Thief’s report, reading the first lines and biting his lower lip, “and at the same time I… I don’t.”

Because he wouldn’t be ready to face a reality that might hurt him too much, now of all times. “I’m sorry. It probably sounds senseless to you. I’m just… thinking too much about it.”

“... maybe you should pass the case to someone else? At least until you don’t fully recover, I mean.”

“No,” and his answer is so fast, so abrupt, that he feel the need to ask Hajime to forgive him. “He doesn’t want anyone else, he would probably stop appearing until I feel better - I still wonder how he does know that…”

Wataru always knows when he feels good, when he’s free, when he’s too tired to stand on his feet. He knows when he’s on the edge of a breakdown, he knows when he’s wired, he knows when he wants to kill the Phantom Thief and when he wants to see him just to be sure that he’s still after him and only him. The Thief never shows on thursdays and Wataru always have rehearsal on - 

He can’t believe it. Is he in denial?

It can’t be Wataru.

“It can’t...” he stops before blabbering too much, shutting his mouth and giving Hajime his best smile. “I’m sorry to ask you but could you bring me some coffee? I need a boost, I have so much work to catch up with…”

And Hajime, sweet, good Hajime smiles and bows as he leaves him alone. Tomoya sighs, bending his head a bit and looking at the ceiling, while his thoughts race at the speed of light. It’s strange, how just a little clue might give life to an intricate web of connections, how just a single question can get him to suspect of the person he…

The person he likes the most. 

He must be rational, he must not let himself go at a series of conjectures that maybe are just a work of fantasy and not the absolute truth. He must check on everything, cross the datas he has on his hand with the things he knows about Wataru, and exclude any chance that he and the Phantom Thief might be the same person. It’s just impossible.

It can’t be Wataru. 

He scrolls the file on his hands without noticing he’s holding his breath, too focused to distract himself - too focused to barely notice Hajime entering the room and letting the coffee on his desk, before he leaves again without a word. He takes his agenda from the drawer and opens it, turning hastily the pages and taking paper and pen with his free hand, dates over dates in which he was at work, in which he was at home, sick, tired, whatever he needs to. He doesn’t want to throw an accusation until he’s not sure and even if he was, damn it, what should he do?

“You idiot,” he hisses between his teeth, and really, he doesn’t know what to do. He feels lost, for the umpteeth time since he has started working on the case, and suddenly all his will to keep going is fading, his forces drained all at once. He would quit if he could. He would quit and stop tormenting himself. 

How could he be so stupid. 

 

He stops in front of Wataru’s intercom, wondering if he should press that button and talk to him about his doubts. Just the thought of it is silly because honestly, who would confess a crime so carefreely, without any worry about the consequences? Oh well, maybe Wataru could. 

Which Wataru, by the way? Now that he’s almost sure to have the truth on his hand, Tomoya starts to question whatever he knows about the man, even if he already did multiple times, even if he knew since the first time they met that Wataru always wears a mask, always thinks he’s on a stage to play the role of someone that maybe doesn’t even remotely resemble himself. He wants to believe that his suspects have no foundation, but he knows deep inside his heart that the chance he’s right is not that far from reality. And so he stares at his own finger suspended in the air, as he wonders if he should go on and push that damned button.

He knows he won’t, but it’s good to let himself float into the illusion that he has the guts to face reality. And he admits it without any problem now, that he wants to cry, that he feels like someone had just stabbed his back. 

But he has no time to cry, he has no time to close himself into the usual ball of self loathing that welcomes him each time he fails, each time he is reminded of his mediocrity. He can’t keep going with that angsty feeling pressing over his stomach for too long, so he holds his breath, and pushes it. 

And when he raises his face, and notice that nobody is on the balcony to wave at him, and the lights inside the apartment are off, he knows that it was all wasted time, because Wataru isn’t home, and won’t answer for his call.

 

He rang at his door a thousand times, after that day, but Wataru never opened the door. He has become like dust, thin and impalpable, and Tomoya feels his presence, and at the same time he knows Wataru is not there. He spends the next three days feeling his heart on his stomach, waking up in the middle of the night scared as a rabbit, because of Wataru’s absence or because of his doubts haunting him, he doesn’t know. When he goes to work, the first and last thing he does when he crosses the door to the agency is throwing a glance at his lock, just to feel his chest emptying when he sees there’s nothing for him. No envelopes, no addresses, no blue roses. He still has the one the Thief gave him a while ago, withered on its vase but still beautiful, the hint of blue visible even if its petals dried - sometimes, when he hits the bottom of the barrel, he can relate to that rose. 

He feels drained - and this time, for real. 

He waits for something that he wonders if will ever arrive, at this point of the story. And for angry that he might be, he misses Wataru’s voice, he misses his high tone and his inconsiderate way to talk to him at seven in the morning, he misses his invites to the theatre, he misses to see him shine on the stage, and jump on the streets under the rain. He wants to punch his face, and he would deserve it, and Tomoya is sure that Wataru knows that too. 

But he can’t get out his anger on him, if he doesn’t show himself.

He doesn’t know where to find him, he doesn’t know where to begin. And at the end of the third day, on a thursday that should leave him without any hope left, as he’s leaving his office to go home and drown himself in the bathtub of his home, he sees the white envelope sticking out of his lock, and his heart starts to race like crazy. 

“The Thief!” he shouts without any control, as he literally runs those few steps that divide him from the letter, while people around him start to move like ants going crazy over something attacking their nest. 

His fingers tremble, as he takes the letter on his hand, his name written elegantly on the envelope. It almost looks like the Thief put some effort in writing it to make it appear important, like if that was the invitation to their last party, to their last meeting. 

And God must be playing with his patience, because when he opens the envelopes and unfolds the piece of paper, his eyes goggle and his heart stops beating for a moment. 

 

_To my precious, wonderful Little Rabbit,_

_I know you missed me and I’m sorry, but I had to arrange a few things before coming back to you. It’s my pleasure to invite you to the most beautiful party of your whole life, the amazing showdown, the final clash between Good and Bad ☆ Put your best clothes on, because departures need to be well greeted, and I know you won’t let me down. Show me what you got, Little Rabbit, because your time to shine has finally come! ☆_

 

He skips the rest, just to read the address and find out something he didn’t expect at all. 

“This can’t be possible,” he whispers, as the next lines recite a name he knows way too well by now.

Tenshouin.

 

The sun died behind the buildings of a city now ready to rest long ago, and every colour is dull now, different shades of blue and black guiding Tomoya through the road to the Tenshouin mansion. The faint light of a crescent moon welcomes him as if he was the most awaited guest, tracing a path on the ground that starts from his feet and reaches the white gate in front of him, around which the police already gathered as soon as the announcement has been spread among the agency. 

He doesn’t know what to expect, once he will put his feet on the Tenshouin’s ground, because it’s the first time that the target of the Phantom Thief is someone Tomoya personally knows, and that probably the Thief himself does, if his deductions are correct. He feels nervous, more than any other time, and he doesn’t know if it’s because it’s the house of a friend - if he might call Eichi that way - that is being targeted, or because the Thief made it clear how that will be the last time their lives will ever cross paths. He swallows hard, as he sees the Tenshouin family outside their own house, a large man crossing arms on his chest. Eichi is near him, and for a moment his heart sinks, when he sees him wearing a surgical mask and his shoulders covered in a warm blanket. Sometimes he forgets of how weak he is - how could the Thief of all the people among the city…

“Ah. Tomoya-kun.” 

Tomoya can’t see half of his face, but he’s sure Eichi is smiling, as he turns towards him. He tries to answer back, but it’s hard to lift the corners of his lips when his mind is busy trying to put his thoughts in order. He waves his hand and stops at a few steps from the family, Nazuna and Adonis talking to a woman Tomoya supposes being Eichi’s mother. 

“Eichi-san. Tenshouin-san,” he greets them, bowing and holding his breath, the moisture of night ticking his nose. As he straightens he feels Eichi’s hand on his shoulder, and that’s the moment all the air he held in his lungs run out, and he feels empty.

“You look worried.”

“I am.” But he’s not sure he should tell Eichi what tormented him for half of the week. “I just didn’t expect I would have met you in such a situation. I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t. I’m having fun, to be honest.”

Freaks tag along. Because really, this is the first time Tomoya hears something like that coming from the lips of someone who’s being targeted by a thief - nobody would enjoy that kind of situation.

Exception made for Eichi Tenshouin, apparently.

“Fun?”

“I get it’s a difficult concept to grasp, but I spend most of my time closed in my room because of my condition - visiting Wataru is a luxury I shouldn’t be permitted as well. The idea of the Phantom Thief in my house thrills me so much I could actually die for the joy,” and his voice doesn’t betray him because, oh God, he really looks happy, so happy that his eyes are shining like the stars above his head. 

Tomoya doesn’t want to investigate any further on the subject, because it’s giving him a headache. He prefers to focus on the case instead. “Do you have any idea of what he’s aiming at?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I mean, there’s plenty of valuables in our house, so he would just be spoilt of choice. But it could literally just be everything, from a set of jewels to my Mother’s war aircraft collect-”

“Excuse me? No, never mind. Okay, so… I’ll take a look around and see what I can figure out, then. He usually states what he’s going to steal or at least leave a clue but...”

“Tomoya-kun? Can I give you a suggestion?” and Eichi takes down his mask, his smile beautiful and bright - so in contrast to his poor health, to the whole situation.

“Yes. Everything might help, at the moment.”

“Trust your instinct.”

 

Easier said than done, to be honest. 

The Tenshouin’s mansion is damned huge, more than anyone he got to visit since this sick game has started. It’s all so white, so elegant, almost immaculate - every corner smells of flowers and antiseptic, he supposes because of the health problems of the heir of the family. He should have asked Eichi to give him a general overview of the house, because at the moment he doesn’t know where to turn - he can’t even find the stairs, so wide is the room in which he finds himself now. He looks around, looking for something he doesn’t even know, hoping to see something off, something that might lead him to the right path. He crosses one room, two rooms, and when he finally finds the stairs he sees a spot of blue, among all that white. 

He runs towards it, and for a moment he wonders if he isn’t wrong, jumping to the sudden conclusion that Wataru is the Phantom Thief. As adrenaline starts to rush on his veins, he finds out that he doesn’t want to know the truth behind all those masks, that he could keep living with one unsolved mystery or two in his life. 

But as he kneels on the floor and he takes that little petal between his fingers, Tomoya knows he can’t just ignore it. Not when Wataru might be involved, not when he finally accepted the fact that he probably fell in love with him since the first day his neighbour showed him an interest towards his person. He brings the petal to his mouth, kissing it softly as he whispers “Please, please, please”, please let this end soon, please don’t make me more hurt than I already am. 

He raises his face and gives a glance at the stairs, a path of petals invading the steps up to the next floor. He notices that the wall on his left is embellished with masks, pretty similar to the ones he saw hanging on the wall of Wataru’s home. Some of them appear to be missing, though, because there’s a dark ring on the white wall, as if something was taken away after a long time. He stands on his feet again, and the first thing he does is brushing the wall with his fingers, as if it might help him to deduce when the mask has been taken off. 

Of course it can’t. But he knows that it can’t have been too long. He turns towards the stairs, looking at the trail of blue petals inviting him to follow that path - Tomoya can hear some singing, upstairs. 

He wonders if it’s the Thief luring him into his trap. His voice is so soothing, though, that he can’t reject his request. And it might be a mistake, stepping on those blue petals and following that voice, but at this point what should he do? He can feel the last pages of their story leafing through his fingers, and as far as he wished he could stop time right now, he feels like it must get its end, at last. He must know.

The steps he makes seem endless under his feet. His nerves are so tense that he’s starting to sweat under his coat, under the _best clothes he could put on_ , and for a moment he takes into consideration the idea of turning his back and go out, tell Hajime that he doesn’t feel well, and leave the Thief alone and free to do as he likes. 

But he can’t. 

Petals are scattered through the floor, tracing a path that starts on the last step of the stairs, and ends at the bottom of the hallway, lighted up by a beam of light coming from the open door of the furthest room. It’s the first time that the room in which the Thief makes him find himself is enlightened - he usually prefers to be surrounded by the dark, to keep the allure of mystery, to make things more exciting. 

This is really the end, then. 

He doesn’t know if he slows down his pace unconsciously or because he’s being over conscious of what he expects him once he crosses that door, but the voice of the Thief is louder now, a touch of sadness making his heart jump, his chest empty.

He peeks through the door, standing there for a moment that takes too long. The Thief’s back is covered in silver hair, let it free to move on its own more than tied in a braid as he always does. Tomoya looks at it, and it’s impossible for him not to overlap that outline to that of Wataru, because now that that hair is down, he doesn’t know who he has before him. The Thief sings, sings as he turns and sees him, sings as their eye lock, and the air dies on his lungs, his heart drops into his stomach. 

“Little Rabbit, you’re here at last,” he smiles behind a mask that’s not his usual one - it’s black and red, colours that match his clothes, his hat. He’s perfect, Tomoya wouldn’t describe him in any other way.

His best clothes for the last party.

“Please, come closer. I don’t want us to be so distant, on this farewell meeting. It’s been hard enough, until now, to stay away from you.”

“Stop it!” He surprises himself, Tomoya, but judging by the shocked expression behind the Thief’s mask, he’s not the only one to feel that way. He takes a few steps inside the room, and the door closes on his back, cutting them out from the rest of the world. For a moment, his heart beats so fast that Tomoya is afraid to pass out there, but he manages to calm down, somehow.

Well, _calm down_ wouldn’t be the right words to describe how he’s feeling right now. 

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” he asks, his voice higher that it should, and his feet move on their own, moving fast towards the Thief, his hands leaning towards those wide shoulders. He knows those shoulders so well, he recognises them now that he can see that man under the light. “Are you having fun, did you feel good fooling me?”

And he’s already out of breath, when his fists clench over the Thief’s cape, and he shakes him like a doll. He wants to know the truth, he wants to know why he had to treat him like an idiot for a whole year. Because he’s sure, by now, that the man in front of him isn’t a stranger - or maybe he is, now that Tomoya knows, and doesn’t know anything at the same time. “Who the hell are you. Who the-”

Gloved fingers brush over the palm of his hand, and Tomoya stops, looking at those eyes - amethyst in which he would drown, if he could. There’s not a glint of happiness, this time, because even an idiot would notice how that smile painting his lips it’s a fake, a ghost of things that were and won’t be anymore. He’s fighting the urge to cry so hard that he bites his lips, trying to hold together the last flashes of dignity, and he doesn’t stop holding him to the cape, whatever he does to his hands - that touch is so _intimate_ that he hates it, now. 

“Tomoya-kun, you should calm down, first.”

And that moment, his heart cracks a bit. 

He lets his arms fall down his hips, while he takes a step and slips a hand over his face. He must calm down, he’s right. He can’t act properly if he doesn’t calm down. He can’t punch his face hard, if he doesn’t calm down.

The thought doesn’t really help, but at least the surge of anger is tamed. 

“I really hope you have a good explanation to this mess, because I-”

“Do you remember, the first time we met?” the Thief interrupts him. His eyes are closed, and Tomoya hates it because that’s the only way he can read his mind - or at least, he loves to deceive himself that he can. He doesn’t answer, breathing hard. “I told you that I had great expectations about you. I told you that you were a dim light, just because you couldn’t see your true potential. And that I’d have helped you to shine.” 

The Thief starts to walk around, without a destination, his hand behind his back as he takes a step, two, three, the sound of his heels resounding in the empty room. “You were hopeless, Little Rabbit. I know you were. A poor child without any talent, just a liking for riddles, maybe that’s what brought you to work as a detective? Who knows, I would really want to listen to that story, one day. But not now, because I don’t really care about your past, at the moment. You had the eyes of a dead beast waiting to be slaughtered, when we first met, that’s why you caught my interest. Because you looked so desperate that I liked you that very instant.” 

Tomoya stares at him, at that black mask, at that silver hair flying at the Thief’s moves, like broken strings of a violin - and they shine so much. “This is your stage, Little Rabbit. My identity, the relics I’ve stolen, everything around you is your stage, the place where you can play the hero, and where I’m nothing but a villain looking for a bit of fun. And oh, you gave me more fun than anybody else, you know? You were amazing, the best performing actor I had the pleasure of meet. And let me tell you, Little Rabbit, that I’ve met many people in my life. But no one was as bright as you. You’re the brightest star in the sky, the light that clear the darkness. Because that’s what people like you do, and the saddest thing is that you don’t even notice your potential, your ability. You have no talent, and that’s the thing you must cherish the most about yourself because if you’re nobody, you can be whoever you want. And you must realise one thing.”

The Thief steps towards him, and it’s just natural for Tomoya to take a step back, at the moment, because his head is so full of words he doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t want to. But he’s so close, now, that he can feel that breath on his face. The Thief bends towards him, a hand on his mask and the other one behind his back while he bends towards Tomoya and smiles. And when he puts off the puts off the mask and shows his real self, his heart stops beating for a moment.

He shouldn’t be surprised, and yet.

“I’m just a fantasy you created to escape from an ordinary live. You didn’t put your hands on it, that’s true, you didn’t pull the strings. I just granted your wish. But it’s time to wake up, Little Rabbit.”

He wishes he had a clue about whatever Wataru is blabbering, and still the only thing he says is those purple eyes and - 

He bites his lower lip, again, swallowing hard because the world is running fast and he feels so behind. He closes his eyes, repeating to himself that he must focus, focus, _focus_ , but all the work goes to waste when the Thief’s hand brushes his right cheek, before he straighten up and offers his wrist. “Put an end to this story. And start a new one.”

 

There is way too much hustle around him, when the police finally reaches them and surrounds the Thief, too many guns pointed at him to make Tomoya feel comfortable with just the sight of it. He smiles, the Thief, when he’s being taken away, but he doesn’t stop looking at him, that wink of his eyes that lets him wonder if this is really the end of it all. Tomoya is shaking, but he doesn’t mind at the moment. 

Eichi comes a few minutes after that room has been emptied, but Tomoya notices him just because he feels a hand brushing gently on his back to call him back to reality. He startles, when he notices his presence by his side, but Eichi gently smiles, and doesn’t look distressed.

“Eichi-san…” 

“It must have been tough for you,” he starts, looking at the room, blue petals still scattered around the room. He wonders if he has realised as well who’s the man hidden behind that mask, if he feels empty like that room, now. “Aren’t you happy, now that it’s all over?”

He knows that there’s a second meaning, behind Eichi’s words. Tomoya isn’t sure why, but he can feel it in his guts, that there’s something else behind that single question. And the reason he knows is that no, he doesn’t feel happy at all. 

He feels like he has just lost something important, more important that he would have thought until that very moment. 

“I don’t know,” it’s the most honest answer he could give now, as he looks at the door in front of him and still sees the outline of Wataru’s body lingering in the air. 

“Tomoya-kun,” Eichi turns towards him, a soft smile bending his lips, “did you realise what the Thief wanted to steal from this empty room?”

The question strikes his head hard, because well, he didn’t have anything on his hand exception made for the mask he took on the wall of the stairs. But he doesn’t know and -   
And how should Eichi Tenshouin know, by the way?

“No,” he says, raising an eyebrow. 

“Your mediocrity. And probably something else, but you should listen to it with your own ears so it’s better if you run now, Little Rabbit.”

Tomoya feels like he’s being tricked once again - and how he’s supposed to know that silly, stupid nickname? He knew he should have trusted his guts and he shouldn’t have trusted Eichi since the first time they met. 

But he follows his advice, for the second time in a few hours, and runs. 

 

The first thing that he thinks, as he steps on the ground again after the journey from the Tenshouin’s mansion to the police station, is that he should try to help him in front of the court, because he never stole anything with the intention to enrich himself, or ruin someone’s life. What he did was pretty much the police’s job after all, because who in the world would blame someone who give precious relics back to their legitimate owners? His irrational self, on the other hand, keeps whispering in his head that Wataru deserves to rot in prison because he played with him, he played with his heart - and still, he can’t really listen to it, because…

Because damned himself, he loves Wataru.

He steps into the station just to find Otogari reaching him, a disappointed frown on his face.

“I’m glad you’re here, because he doesn’t want to talk to anybody else but you,” and Adonis doesn’t need to tell him where the cells are, because Tomoya have visited them multiple times, imagining the Phantom Thief behind them. He runs, as fast as he can, because he wants to see him, he wants to understand better - those words are still ringing on his ears and still he doesn’t grasp their meaning. But when he gets to the cell and looks into it, the only thing he sees is the floor painted in blue by a thousand roses, and a little plushie on the bench where the Thief should be - a mini version of him, so accurate that for a moment Tomoya really wants to wish that idiot had turned himself into a toy. 

But he knows the truth too well, by now. 

“Oh my God,” is the only thing that he lets escape from his lips, while someone behind him gives the alarm, and everybody panics.

 

He feels worn out. It’s already two in the morning when Kunugi tells him to go home, because after all the things he has done to catch that damned Thief, the police was so idiotic to make him escape without anybody noticing in just a matter of minutes. And he would have really stayed, he would have really helped, but he so feels so much the urge to hide himself from the world for the next three years at least, that he couldn’t really reject his offer. He takes a taxi, and on the time he spends on board the only thing he does is staring at the sky, wondering if he’ll see the Thief escaping on that stupid, silly balloon that Wataru seemed to like so much.

He wonders if he will see him again. He wonders if he should start forgetting him now, before it’s too late. Might be darkness be blessed, at a time like this, because Tomoya feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t shed a tear before he reaches his apartment. 

How will he ever survive, from now on?

It’s so stupid to think that he would have been happy just knowing that Wataru wouldn’t be his neighbour anymore just a few months ago, and now, as his sight blurs and the street lights become a messy flash of bright colours outside the car, he can’t help to think that his silly greetings in the morning will be the thing he’ll miss the most. 

He smiles, leaning his forehead against the window and looking at the plushie between his hands, just for a second because it hurts too much already. 

He recognises his neighbourhood, and he thanks the driver for his work and pays him, before he gets off the car. The whole area is buried in silence, just the cry of some nocturnal beast interrupts that peace now and then. He steps towards the doorway, and his instinct brings him to raise his head towards Wataru’s balcony.

But nobody is there.

Tomoya shakes his head, as he turns the key and enters the building, wondering if he’ll be able to sleep, tonight. He doesn’t even turn the lights of the stairs on - he knows where to put his feet, and who should expect to see at that hour anyway? Each step weighs on him like a bowling ball, his body invaded by that feeling of tiredness that won’t go away even if he puts himself to sleep right away. He sighs, as he looks for the key to enter his apartment, and then something brushes his shoulder, and he jumps on his feet, startled. 

“I thought you wouldn’t come home tonight, Tomoya-kun, but I’m glad I was wrong,” and Wataru’s voice is so cheerful and a bit too high for him to not get scared. He turns too fast, hitting his back against the door of his own house, just to find Wataru’s face in front of his one, half hidden in the dark. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I scare you?”

“... You;” and maybe his voice sounds too harsh but well, he really hopes Wataru didn’t expect him to be too glad to see him. 

“Oh. I guess you’re angry. You’re showing your teeth, how cute.” but his shoulders don’t match his cheerful tone, because they drops as soon as he straighten himself a bit. He’s tired, at least judging from the little he sees in the dim light. “Would you mind talking about it in front of a cup of tea?”

“Tea won’t save you from the mess you put yourself into.”

“But at least give me a last chance to be honest with you, Tomoya-kun.”

 

There are three cups of tea on the table, all half empty with cold tea. He wonders if Wataru took a sip for each one of them while he was waiting for his return, or if it’s just the result of a brilliant mind, being so messy to forget to wash the dishes for days. 

He shouldn’t care about it now. 

Wataru enters the room with two cups on his hands, already full with an infusion - passion flower, judging for the smell. “This isn’t tea,” he pronounces, lowering his head as Wataru sits before him - now, under the light, he’s not sure he can stand to look at him in the eyes.

“We both had a difficult night, I thought this was better. It helps with anxiety.”

Ah, anxiety. He holds himself from making Wataru notice how this is all his fault, and he doesn’t know how. They both should thank his tiredness.

There’s a moment of embarrassing silence, thick and nauseous as honey. Tomoya takes a sip of infusion and swallows hard, because his nerves are tense, and the only thing that his mind can think of now is _why, why, why_. He looks at the wall where the Venetian masks are hung, and just now sees that the one the Thief was holding back at the Tenshouin’s mansion and the one Wataru owns are the same, identical mask. 

“How,” he whispers, looking at Wataru, this time, and not at his own feet. 

“How?”

“How did you escape. You weren’t alone before I arrived and-”

“It takes a few second to perform a magic trick, Tomoya-kun. You should know this by now.”

“... so it was really you?”

Wataru’s hands stops in mid-air, while his lips wear thin. He sighs, so softly that Tomoya wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t looking at him, but that’s not a great solace. “I-”

“When you invited me to see you at the theatre, I thought… just for a second that you could be him. I looked at you and thought that you would have fit that role so well, but I just thought it was a silly thought, and that you could ever…”

“I’m glad to hear this. Because I was trying to tell you something. I had, multiple times, Tomoya-kun.” Wataru leaves his infusion on the table, another half empty cup to add to the collection growing on that table in no time. “When I met you, the first day I moved here, I thought that you were amazing. Such an ordinary man, struggling to be someone so hard. I’ve never been ordinary, people always labelled me as a freak, someone to stay away from. You called me a freak a thousand times, too, but you never tried to avoid me. I liked that. I… honestly loved that.”

He bends over him, elbows on his knees, his face buried on the palms of his hands. Tomoya finds himself hating the fact that the only thing he can see is a cascade of silver hair covering Wataru’s face. 

He wants to touch it, pull it away. 

“I wanted to do something for you. I was so tired to see you dragging yourself to work and come home exhausted, so I asked for advice.”

“... Eichi Tenshouin?”

“See? You really are amazing, Tomoya-kun. I asked Eichi to help me find a way to help you and he just told me the most obvious thing in the world: you’re an actor, Wataru, why don’t you dress the part of a thief? And I thought: why not? You worked in a detective agency after all. I could be the Moriarty to your Sherlock Holmes. Well, you’re more a Watson, if I can be honest, but Watson himself was described as a conductor of light, and that image pretty much fits you as well.”

“I- I don’t get it. You’re just telling me that you faked it all because of me?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the truth.”

“... you are an idiot. You, and that Tenshouin friend of yours.”

Wataru laughs, raising his head a bit. “I am. But you know, I had fun. Being chased by you. It was fun. It made me feel alive. Did you feel alive when you run after me, Tomoya-kun?”

“Not at all,” and he turns up his nose, looking away from him before he can see the look on his face. Wataru doesn’t need to, though, because he corrects himself at the speed of life. “... I did. And I’ve hated you more than anything I’ve ever hated in my whole life but… I liked it.” And he doesn’t know why his mind runs at the case of the Himemiya family, he doesn’t know why but - 

Ah. He really does, instead.

“Hibiki-san. Can I ask you something?”

“Anything you want.”

“... the kiss. It was… a fake as well?”

Wataru raises his head so fast that Tomoya fears he might snap his neck. The look on his eyes is so concerned that for a moment Tomoya wonders if he hasn’t said something wrong. He doesn’t notice how Wataru’s hands are looking for his own until he feels the warm touch against his skin - his wrists look so thin, around his hands. 

“No. Oh, Jesus, no. Of all that play, that was the truest thing. I cherish you, Tomoya-kun. I love you. Maybe I have acted wrong all this time, but every single thing I did, I did it for you.” 

Why is that man so good with words? He feels his neck burning as much as his cheeks, as much as his ears. Wataru’s lips brush gently against the tip of his fingers, small kisses that fill his ears with the sweetest sound. “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I really am. Forgive this fool, he just wanted your happiness, after all.”

And, honestly, it costs so much to do what he’s going to do, because he still feels hurt, he still feels pain on his chest and he doesn’t know how long it will take to feel better. He stands up, pulling his hands from Wataru’s grasp, and looks at him. He wishes he could pretend to be angry and get even with him, but he just can’t. That’s why he takes a little step towards him, the one he needs to fill Wataru’s head pushing against his stomach, the one he needs to embrace his head and sink his fingers on that shiny hair, and takes his time to enjoy the moment. 

“You’re an idiot, Hibiki-san. You’re the worst idiot I’ve ever met.”

“I am indeed, Tomoya-kun. But that’s the reason why you love me. Because you do, don’t you, Tomoya-kun? My poor heart could break if you didn’t.”

It’s so cute, his voice muffled by all that hair, the hint of fun brushing his ears like a sweet brush. He lets him raise his head, but Tomoya doesn’t give him the time to say anything else, as he leans towards him and kisses his lips. 

He will never trust his words, never. Wataru will have to work hard to conquer is trust, to get to his heart - that’s his little personal revenge: he doesn’t need to know that he has loved him for a long time, now. 

“I don’t know,” he answers, and he doesn’t protest when Wataru hugs his knees and obliges him to bend them, making him sit on his legs. “Can I think about it?”

“Just for tonight. I’m kidnapping you, Little Rabbit.”

They both laugh as they kiss again, sweet and soft, all lips and teeth and the taste of fruit lingering between their mouths. If being kidnapped means that he can stay over Wataru’s legs for the whole night well, he could take into consideration the idea to be held hostage forever. Tomoya laughs on Wataru’s lips, as he breaks the kiss and looks at him in the eyes.

“What?” the former Phantom Thief asks, tilting his head a bit.

“I was wondering… the balloon… where the hell-”

“It’s a secret,” Wataru winks, while he brushes Tomoya’s nape with his fingers. “But I can tell you, if you give me another kiss. Or you can ask Eichi, but it would be boring, wouldn't it?”

“You are the worst idiot in the history of idiots, honestly;” but he laughs again, and their lips meet again. If Wataru made all of this mess to make him shine, to give him the spotlight well, he supposes he can forgive him after all. 

Things will get better from now on. He’s sure of it.


End file.
